Sister to son
by Aurora-swan
Summary: When Harry reveals to John she's dying his world starts to crumble, death among friends just seems like a curse that hovers around him. But in all this sorrow Harry wants to bring him and his husband happiness. Her last wish is to give them a child. Mostly a story of how Sherlock and John handles fatherhood. Parentlock. Hamish Watson Holmes. Sherlock/John Just a lot of drabble.
1. A wonderful experiment?

**This is a follow up to my last fanfic "The way the world moves" But there's really no need to read that before this.**

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John sat down by the table and watched while his sister poured the steaming hot tea in his cup and served him.

"Do you want lemon or sugar?" she asked and poured herself some before resettling the kettle on the table.  
"It's fine." he answered and saw how she put two spoons in his cup anyway before she sat down before him. She rested her hands on the table and observed him with a thin smile.  
"I've been sober for a year now." she said proudly and John's eyes widened.

"That's great!" he exclaimed and let out a relieved laugh. "That's... wonderful!" He reached over the table to take her hand but she suddenly pulled back and lowered her gaze to her cup, John frowned and his smile faded. "What's wrong? Has something happened?" Tears were falling down her cheeks but she was still smiling lovingly. "Harry?" She wiped them quickly and sniffled.

"How's life?" she asked suddenly and reached for his hand like her mood had turned. "Is everything fine between you and Sherlock?" John didn't understand, he gave her a slight nod and took a deep breath as he squeezed her hand.

"Yes, everything's fine. But... has something happened?" She let out a quiet sob, but she was still smiling at him, her eyes had gone darker. "Please tell me!" A rock had landed in his belly, and it grew heavier for each second that Harry was quiet. "Harry?" She pressed a cold hand to her lips and sniffled again.

"I'm sorry." she moaned and took a deep breath to calm herself. Something was clearly wrong, and not just anything; something was about to happen, John could tell. Once again she wiped her tears and made herself prepared to break the news.

"I'm sick." she said hoarsely and John frowned.

"What do you mean sick? Is there something I can do?" She let out a restrained laugh behind her tears and shook her head.

"No, John. Not this time." He didn't understand, she breathed again. "I have a tumour." The heavy rock got heavier and he shook his head in disbelief. "It's inoperable."

"Of course it isn't..." he said but was soon interrupted.

"Please John!" she begged him and he bit his lip so he would cry in panic, he swallowed the sobs that wanted to tore through his throat. "It over for me." John let out a shaking breath and shook his head, grasped her hand with both his and leaned close over the table, he opened his mouth to speak but his sister let out a sad giggle. "Don't worry, I have, maybe, two years left."  
"But there must be something... I mean... "

"There isn't." she said calmly and John gritted his teeth and stared into the wooden table.

"Oh god!" he groaned and pressed a cold hand over his eyes as the tears started to flow. Harry was dear to him, even if they had their differences, she was the closes family he had. The fact that she would die in such a short time was the hardest knew he had ever been given.

"But John..." she whispered and placed a hand on his head. "John, listen to me." He groaned loudly and looked at him again. "I have a proposition." Her tears were gone, she now seemed eager and joyful, like her death sentence didn't bother her at all.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a sob and reached for the napkin under the cup. She giggled and took both of his hands.

"I know how much you want a child..." The words silenced his sobbing and he stopped breathing. "I have one last wish before I die."

"What are you talking about?" he asked and shook his head.

"I wish to help you." she said happily. "I want to help you and Sherlock conceive a child." John closed his eyes hard and shook his head.

"No, no, I can't ask that of you." he sobbed but Harry held both his hands tightly.

"You're not asking me, I'm asking you." she said. "I don't have long, but I have enough time to feel the miracle of creating life and... I really want to do that for you. You and Sherlock will be great fathers." John bit his lips, he couldn't look at his sister, if he did he knew that his sobbing would be out of control. "Please John, let me do this for you."

* * *

It had never been so hard to walk up the stairs to the flat, every step seemed higher somehow, his shoes felt heavier. Not a sound was heard from any of the rooms and he looked around in the mess of papers and beakers to find Sherlock by his desk, eyes concentrated into the microscope.

"I said, would you be so kind and bring me my note book?" Even it he heard the question he couldn't answer him, not a sound would leave his mouth. The silence made the detective lift his head and see John standing in the doorway, arms by his sides and eyes empty. "John?" Then John did something unexpected, he raised his hands to his face and an awful sob slipped over his lips, Sherlock nearly panicked by the sight, he had never seen him do anything like this. The experiment before him was suddenly unimportant and he tossed himself across the room to get to John as quick as he could. He embraced him and John pinned himself to his shirt, hiding his face into the crock of his neck wile crying. "What happened?" he asked and cradled his head. There was a long moment in silence except Johns awful sobbing. Sherlock just held him close, trying to read him but he wasn't familiar with human emotions. He knew that he had been at his sister's because he had told him, he could smell tea, Harry's perfume and sorted out that they had been holding each other, just like they were now. John's face was swollen, he had cried earlier so he had been sad for a long time now, but what was the cause of it all? "Something's wrong with Harry." he eventually guessed and John hiccuped by the crying.

"Yes." he sobbed and nodded, he could't talk in long sentences so he would gladly let Sherlock dig his way to the problem.

"Is she sick?" Sherlock continued and he nodded again. Then there was another long moment of silence and the detective didn't want to ask his last question but he had to, even if he knew what the answer would be. "Is she dying?" His husband fell apart in his arms in crying and Sherlock held him tightly, rocking him back and forth. "I'm so sorry." There were many times that he had used that sentence as a lie, but not this time. Seeing his beloved suffer that much truly pained him, he wanted to help but what could he do? All that came mind was this, just holding him, stroking his back, be there for him. "How long does the have?" John took a breath deep enough to hurt his lungs and the smell of Sherlock started to calm him. The cab ride here had been awful, sitting in the back, holding himself sane from crashing down in tears, he was so glad to be home.

"Two years." he stammered and sniffled, the sobbing started to fade away. "If she's lucky. It's a brain tumour, it will grow until it's to big and then... " He silenced himself and bit his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. The detective sensed that there was more, there was something else so far away from sorrow, he could tell by John's sudden stop of crying that he had something important to tell him. "I need to ask you something."

"I know." he said calmly. "Ask me." John closed his eyes and smiled to the crock of his neck. Was his husband so smart that he'd already figured it out.  
"Do you know what it is?" he asked and lifted his head to wipe his own tears. Sherlock eased the pressure of his hug and looked down on him.

"I have no idea." he said and shook his head. "Please, tell me." The doctor sniffled and without thinking he started to straighten his husbands clothes.

"Harry has a final wish." he started and saw how he lost Sherlock with just those words.  
"Is there something we can do?" he asked and tilted his head to the side, still holding John closely so he could fell every heartbeat from him, but John shook his head.

"No, it's the other way around." Sherlock didn't understand. "There's something she wants to do for us." Sherlock swallowed hard and cleared his throat shortly after, he started to scramble all the pieces of informations to understand what John meant but he was lost. "Do you remember our first real date?" Now he was definitely lost.  
"Sorry." he said. "Are we talking about something else now?" John closed his eyes hard and shook his head again.

"No, this is important. Do you remember what you asked me when we left Angelo's?" Of course he did, he remembered everything. And suddenly, pieces started to fall into place. "It's time to start speculating for real." His stomach turned and he didn't know how to react to these news. Harry wanted to be their surrogate-mother. John saw how Sherlock disappeared into his pondering, staring into nothingness with blue-green eyes. "I know that this comes as a chock but... " Sherlock's pondering was done.

"Let's do it." he said and John froze in his arms.

"No, Sherlock. You can't just come to conclusion like that. This is a huge decision!" But the detective's mind had already sorted everything out.

"It's perfect!" he shouted happily and released John to walk around the room as he always did when he had solved something. "This is our only chance to conceive a child related to us both, I'll be the father and your sister can carry the child. When he's born he will be the perfect mix between us both! Oh! This is brilliant! Fantastic! Oh John!" he laughed. "This is perfect!" He spun around on the carpet and saw all this like a marvellous experiment and opportunity. A child would be conceived and brought into the world and both his fathers would be genetically related to it. "Oh this will be so much fun!" He turned to his husband to embrace him again when he saw how the doctor's eyes had turned many shades darker and he quickly regretted his words. He bit his lips and shook his head. "I am so sorry." he whispered and curled his hands into fists. "I am... oh my goodness..." He turned his back to John and pulled his hair by the roots.

There were many times that John had been able to look past Sherlock's unsympathetic outbursts, but this time it was impossible.

"How can you be so cold sometimes?" he asked him, his voice had gone lower by the awful anger tearing him apart from the inside. "How can someone like you who is so intelligent, be so bloody ignorant?" It was hard for John not to hate himself, but he knew that Sherlock was right about some of the things. This way, their child would be related to them both. Sherlock could be the father. But he was wrong about that this was brilliant. Fantastic. Fun.

"I'm so sorry John." Sherlock whispered and turned at his husband who had sunken in his position, still tensed with every limb hurting and hand curled up until his nails dug into his palms, Sherlock knew one thing that could. help. "Do you want to punch me?" John smirked, almost evil and lifted his head.

"Oh, I would love to right now." he growled and bit down hard. Sherlock understood him perfectly and leaned forward a bit, he deserved ti be beat up this time.

"I'll let you." he said and closed his eyes hard, the next second he heard John walking over the room and he made himself prepared for a punch, but John embraced him and placed a deep kiss upon his lips. This was not what he had expected and his eyes flew open to make sure that this really happened. John ended the kiss and buried his face into his neck again.

"You might be a real git sometimes, but I would never beat you." he sighed.

"I don't understand..." Sherlock stammered, quite chocked by the sudden turn in John's temperament. "You're not mad?"

"Oh, I am furious." John said sharply. "But you just said yes to having a baby. I can't stay mad at you for long after agreeing to something like that. I might just be able to look past this." This was confusing. Sherlock cleared his throat and wound his arms around him. "But you do know what this means, right. It's not something you can just say yes to and then regret in the future. If this succeeds, our child isn't an experiment."

"I know." Sherlock said. It felt like a lie but he hoped it wasn't, he wanted a child with John, but he couldn't imagine himself as a father. He was a horrible people person, and that was the reason to why he didn't have many friends. But his love for John would make him do anything for him, and John wanted a child and he wanted it with him. How could he ever say no to that? "Let's do it."

* * *

Harry didn't need more than one donation from Sherlock to get pregnant. Two weeks after the decision was made the test came back positive and that's when the Sherlock started to panic. What had he agreed to, really? Nine month from now they would bring home a little boy or a girl to Baker Street and Sherlock felt lightheaded when John had told him. How the hell would he, the sociopath, take care of a child? He could hardly take care of himself. But, it was to late to stop it now, he was stuck. He decided to keep this secret from his husband and tried to mirror his emotions on a level that seemed most "sociopathic" to keep John in the dark of his fears. He tried not to think about it to much, after all, nothing would happen for nine month. But his try to stay out of the subject was impossible, after all, furnitures needed to be bought, the flat needed to be childproofed, John's old bedroom needed to be renovated. And mrs Hudson just wouldn't shut up about it! Why did they tell her so early?

Even if he never said it to John, he was relieved that Harry didn't live with them. There had been talk about it and Sherlock had just been sitting there, digging his nails into his thighs when John offered the top room to her, mentally screaming. But luckily enough, Harry was going to spend her last days with her girlfriend Clara. John told her to at lest quit her job, that they would pay anything, it was the least they could do for her. Now Sherlock didn't need to worry about being disturbed by a lesser mind in the middle of experimenting and thinking, he never told John that either.

They visited her, time to time, and she visited them. Just tea and biscuits, sometimes dinners. Every time they met John always found it hard to handle the situation. He tried to be as happy as he could when they met, for her sake, he didn't want her to spend her last months with a depressed brother. He liked to visit her alone more than visiting her with Sherlock. The environment was always a little more positive without him around since his husband easily got annoyed by Harry for her lesser mind, he never told Sherlock that, luckily enough, Harry was to "stupid" to understand when Sherlock did that to her. Maybe it was for the best. At lest Sherlock did something for her he didn't do for many others, he tried to be nice.

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**I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave a review, they make me happy. Next chapter will be up soon.**


	2. Hello Hamish

**Warning: Minor characters death**

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The phone rang loudly in the middle of the night and John threw his hand out in the dark to find it.

"Hello?" he groaned and he heard the loud sob in the other side. "Clara?" He sat up in and slammed the other side of the bed so Sherlock would awake. "Clara, what happened? Talk to me? Is Harry okay?"

"You're a daddy." she sobbed and he heard her laugh beneath the tears. John stopped in the middle of dressing and felt his heart skip a beat.

"What?" Clara sniffled and started to sob again.

"She went into labour and she was rushed to the hospital for an emergency c-section. Harry... Harry didn't make it." John felt his hand travel up to his lips and ha fell to the floor. Sherlock woke up from the thump and squinted as he looked at him.

"What's going on?" he asked but slowly started to understand. He didn't need to be intelligent to realise that something had gone terribly wrong, and he felt an awful lump form in his chest.

"But..." John stammered and felt the tears. "What happened? Did she...?" Clara sniffled and soon John heard the cries of a small child and he didn't know if he should cry or laugh. That's was the proof of his child's existents and he started to panic by the many feelings overwhelming him.

"It's a boy." Clara sobbed and John grasped his heart, tears welling from his eyes. A son, he had a son, his little boy was finally here. They were going to bring home a little Hamish to Baker street. "He's beautiful." John drew a loud breath and let out a painful sob, lowered his head and tried to hide his tears with his hand. Then he felt the long arms wound around him and he fell into his husbands embrace, feeling the reality come back to him just as his world had started to crumble by the memory of his sisters. Their childhood together, all those summers spend by the ocean in the family cottage, all the secrets they'd kept together from their parents, jesus, she was gone.

"You need to come here. He want's to see you." John sobbed loudly into Sherlocks shoulder and trembled awfully. Of course he needed to go there, he wanted to see him too.

"Okay." he stuttered. "We'll be there in ten minutes. Are you alone there?"

"No." she sobbed. "My sister is here." John swallowed hard and nodded even if she couldn't see him.

"Good." he sniffled and swallowed hard. The next second he fell apart in Sherlock's arms, sobbing violently and the phone hit the floor. He pinned himself to his t-shirt, not caring if his nails pierced his skin, he just needed to hold on to him before he lost his mind.

"We've got a son." he sobbed after a couple of seconds of silence and he could feel Sherlock tense.

"What?"

"We've got a son. Harry... she..." he sobbed loudly again and Sherlock stoke his back in comfort. "She didn't make it."

"Oh... jesus..." Sherlock sighed, he couldn't believe it. After seeing John's tears and anguish he already knew that Harry was gone, but he thought that the child was gone with her. He never got the impression of that their baby had arrived. The lump in his chest grew heavier and fell down to his stomach. Even if there were facts he didn't feel like a father, he couldn't even imagine himself in that position after all these months, and now, their son was here. What would happen now, what would happen when he laid eyes upon his boy, what if he didn't love him? He felt like he was going to throw up. They were silent for a long time before John started to calm down in his arms.

"We need to go there." he sighed and Sherlock nodded, even if he didn't really want to. "We need to see him."

"Of course." Sherlock said and tried to smile, but he couldn't, he just couldn't feel any sort of happiness, he was sad, sad that John had lost his sister, sad that he didn't feel any sort of anticipation to met little Hamish

"We've got a little boy." John said happily and he just nodded. "A little son."

"Yes." he said and pondered about what a normal person would do in this scenario, he dried his husbands tears and kissed the top of his head.

"A little Hamish." John continued and Sherlock just held him as he cried. "Let's go see him."

* * *

Clara met them at the door and ran into John's embrace, he held her for a long time before they could find words. Sherlock stood beside them, observed and tried to understand all the feeling they were carrying, sorrow, happiness, love, loss. He wished he could understand them, the only feeling he was carrying right now was fear, fear for how John was going to handle all this, fear for how he was going to handle all this.

"I'm glad you were there with her." John said and kissed her cheek. "It would have been awful if she'd been alone." Clara sniffled and looked at him with a great smile.

"She was awake during the procedure." she said and wiped her nose with a hanky. "She saw him, she touched him before she passed." John lost his breathing and his hand touched his lips again while tears fell.

"She did?" he asked and swallowed a sob. Clara nodded with a smile and she stroke his cheek.

"She did." she answered and nodded. "Come, he wants to meet you." She turned and John gave Sherlock a lingering look, making sure he was okay. The detective placed an arm around him and pulled him into his chest, kissed his forehead and said those words that always seemed right in a painful situation.

"It's alright." he whispered even if he didn't know what i meant right now. Clara took his hand in a steady grip and she lead them the way with heavy steppes through the corridor. For every metre they travelled the lump in Sherlock's stomach grew heavier until it was almost painful.

There was a door, and behind it was their newborn son. John's mind was blank, he tried to imagine what they would see and feel as they walked through it.

Sherlock held his breath, trying not to think about the pain in his stomach, his world would either fall or become so much better when he walked through that door.

Clara pushed it open and he saw her sister sitting by the plastic cot, stroking the little bundle that moved under the blankets. John's world stopped and fought the tears, there he was, the last gift his sister had given him. For the moment, sorrow and pain had left him and all his head was filled with was the this, this wonderful meeting.

"Come." Clara begged them and John nailed himself to Sherlock's coat as they stepped forward.

Still nothing, not a single feeling except fear, here he was a few steppes away from his newborn son and still not feeling a thing for him, he had never hated himself so much. But as soon as they closed in to the bed and he laid his eyes upon the small child sleeping under the blankets, everything changed. There he was, his son, his little pink beautiful boy and his body was filled with something warm, a feeling so new that he couldn't place it. What the hell was going on inside him?

A mix between a sob, a laugh and a sigh slipped over John's lips as he saw him. It was love at first sight, he was so much alike him and Sherlock, of course he had gotten the looks from Harry but he and his sister was so alike that he could easily be his biological.

"Jesus christ." Sherlock sighed happily and grasped John's hand, he tightened his grip around him and bit his bottom lip as he smiled, he actually smiled, he had never felt so happy and proud about something. Pride! That wonderful warm feeling inside him was pride, my goodness, this was the best he had ever felt. "Look at that."

"You can pick him up." Lola said and John dried his tears and then wiped his hands on his pants before he carefully lifted the small child and held him close to his heart. The child whimpered silently in his arms and John stared at him in wonder.

"Hello little Hamish." he whispered and pulled at his little hat so he could see the colour of his hair. It was dark and straight. The detective pressed his hands to his lips and breathed calmly as he watched his husband bond with the child. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Sherlock, look at him." He took a step closer and placed a trembling hand upon the little head, he was shaking, he could see himself in that little child, him and John.

"He's so little." he whispered. "God... he's got my hair colour." John let out a little laugh and nodded.

"Yes he does." he said and sniffled. "Look at his little hands." Sherlock grinned happily and stroke a finger over the small little limb, they were really small, but then he saw something cuter.

"Forget about his hands, look at his little nose." John giggled and looked up at Sherlock with teared eyes, he had never been this happy, his wish had finally come true, he was a father, and if that wasn't enough, he got to share this wonderful moment with Sherlock, they were parents to a wonderful little boy.

"I can't believe he's ours." he breathed and captured a beautiful kiss from his husband.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked him and wiped his tears with his thumb.

"Yeah." he lied and sniffled before he turned to Clara who sat on the bedside. "Is everything okay with him? Is he healthy I mean?"

"Yes." she said and sniffled. "You can bring him home whenever you like." John let out a deep breath and looked down at the small boy again. "It's a beautiful name. Hamish. I thought you hated your second name." John grinned and admired the child puffy cheeks and pink skin.

"I did, but it's just perfect for him." He looked at Sherlock again who secretly wiped away a couple of tears he was trying to hide but John saw them, his heart skipped a beat by the sight and he fell in love all over again. "You want to hold him?"

There was no doubt about it, he couldn't wait to hold that little boy close to his heart, feel him breath and move, feel the connection between them.

"Of course." he said and blinked a couple if times before he tossed his coat over the chair behind him. He reached out his hands and received the small bundle. Hamish could almost fit in Sherlock's left hand only. He held him to his chest and observed him in silence, not a word was spoken between them. Sherlock just stared lovingly, touched the velvety dark hair, played with the small fingers, stroke his little cheek. These last couple of months had been awful for him, but he never told John that. This day had been in his nightmares, the thoughts of him having a son, how would he ever be able to love a screaming baby that he had to take care of 24/7? But now, holding this little bundle the only thing he could see was his son, his and John's beautiful son. And on top of that there was something else, something so incredibly big that it made him straighten his body, he felt taller and mightier than ever, he was a father.

It was wonderful to see his husband like this; Sherlock had never told him but John knew that this had been a fear for him. To be honest, John had feared this too, not Hamish, but Sherlock's way to react and treat this, but seeing him now he started to understand that his husband, the sociopath maybe wasn't a sociopath after all, he was just as human as he.

"You can talk to him." John said and stood close to him. That thought had never occurred to the detective.

"But... he can't understand me." he said and felt more stupid them ever.

"No, but he will find comfort in your voice, so he needs to know it." Sherlock looked down on the boy again, his son, and opened his mouth to speak but found his mind blank. How much he even searched in that big brain of his he had no idea what to tell his son.

"What do I say?"

"You can say anything to him." John said. "He can't understand you." Sherlock smirked and placed his big hand on Hamish's chest to feel him breath, his little chest heaving up and down and he started to understand how precious and fragile this little life was.

"You're a very handsome boy, Hamish." he whispered. "I hope you can cope with me, I really do." And he really meant it, he had never cared about what people thought about him or if his personality drove people away. For the second time in his life he was ready to change parts of himself to be loved, the first time he'd done it was for John, he would do anything for that man.

"Of course he will." John said. "He'll have to grow up will you, he will get used to it quicker than you think."

"What if he turns out to be like me?" Sherlock asked nervously and John grasped his arm.  
"Then he will become the most brilliant and smartest man we've ever known except for you."

Those words brought tears to his eyes, sometimes John was more intelligent than anyone, even him. "Thank you." he said and leaned into kiss him. "I love you so much." John held them both in his embrace and observed his husband.

"I love you too." he sighed and looked down at Hamish. "Look at him. He look's so much like you."

"Yes." he giggled. "But he's got your nose. Your short little chubby fingers."

"Don't call my fingers chubby." John grinned and held the little hand. The memories of his sister crawled back to him and he let out a big breath as the tears started to flow again. He turned to Clara and she hurried over the floor to hold him.

"You should be happy." she said and stroke his back. "Harry wouldn't want to see you sad at this moment."

"I know." he sighed and held her. "I am happy but..."

"He looks very much like you two, you and your sister were very alike. He's like the perfect combination between you two." She looked at Sherlock who pulled in the blanked to fold it tighter around the boy. "Take him home. Get some alone time with him, get to know him. I'll call you in the morning." John groaned and kissed her cheek.

"Will you be alright?" he asked and she nodded quickly.

"Yes, I will sleep at my sister's." She gave the small boy a last look. "You will be such good parents for him, I can tell." John let out a painful grin and nodded.

"Thank you."

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**Please, leave a review. They make me happy. I hope you liked this chapter, it hurt my heart a little to write this but I think it turned out fine, tell me what you think!**


	3. Comforting

**This is a cute chapter.**

* * *

John picked up the small boy from the carrier and placed him on his chest. They had known him for more than an hour now, he hadn't opened his eyes once, not even made a sound, he slept peacefully on his chest and John cradled his little head so it didn't fall back. Sherlock ran around in the apartment, they weren't prepared for Hamish arrival yet, he was planned next month so Sherlock felt the need to get their home ready for him as quick as possible.

"John! I can't find the bottles!" he shouted from the kitchen.

"They're in the box above the fridge." he called back and took the little hat off his head, the dark soft fluffyness of hair popped up. The detective came back into the sitting room with the box in his hands and placed it on the table, looking nervous and stressed. "Don't worry Sherlock, he's still asleep." Sherlock placed the hand at his sides and let out a deep breath. Baker street was going to be different for ever from now on. The years to come was going to be full of screaming, crying, laughing, teaching, and not to talk about lots and lots of confusion. John reached out his hand. "Come." Finally, his arms fell to his sides and he smiled happily as he walked over to them. He placed his hand upon Hamish's back and leaned in for a kiss from his husband.

"Is he supposed to sleep this much?" he asked and observed how Hamish sucked his ring and little finger.

"He's just tired after the fight to get here." John answered and played with the velvety hair.  
"He should sleep with us tonight, let's move his cot into our room." John nodded in agreement and leaned his forehead to his shoulder, he was so happy he could cry, but yet so sad. All this made him tremble of a psychosomatic cold and he needed warmth from his detective.

"I love you, Sherlock." he sighed and Sherlock placed his arms around him when he felt him tremble.

"I love you too." he said and kissed his head. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm in shock!" John groaned and lifted his head again, eyes filled to the brim with tears. "I can't believe any if this. I've just lost my sister and still... " he looked down at Hamish again and sighed loudly. "I don't know if I should be happy or sad."

"Maybe you should be both, for a little while." Sherlock answered him like it was easy and John just nodded. "Let's sit down for a while, watch some telly and have some tea before we go to bed." John nodded and and lifted his turned his gaze to him.

"Take him, and I'll make some." he said and Sherlock received the small boy and held him to his chest. He disappeared into the kitchen and Sherlock stood alone in the room with his newborn son in his arms, he decided to introduce himself to him and show him his home.

"Hello Hamish." he mumbled and moved around in the room as he held him. "Welcome to Baker street. Look." He took him over to the window and pulled the curtains aside, looking out over the road that was glowing in streetlight. "There's our street, do you see?" The boy still slept in his arms and Sherlock hadn't expected an answer. "That's were you will run up and down when you're old enough." He turned and walked over to his bookshelf. "Here are my books, feel free too brows through and read whatever you want, as long as you're careful with the original ones." Hamish was still sleeping and Sherlock bit his lip as he smiled at him, touched his little nose. "Here's my violin." he said and plucked two of the strings. "Not for you to touch, not even your daddy. But look, over here..." he ran across the room and fell to his knees by his desk and pulled out the big box. "Here's my first chemistry-kit. Which is yours now." He looked down at Hamish again who eagerly sucked his fingers and he kissed the top of his head. "Feel free to play with it, just be careful with the chemicals and ask me before opening any flasks you can't recognise."

"And you thought you wouldn't be a good dad." Sherlock looked to the kitchen door and saw John hugging his own body. "You're absolutely brilliant with him." Sherlock raised from the floor and kissed his son again, smelling that wonderful scent that only newborn carried.

"It's easy when he isn't talking back or asking stupid questions. I might just enjoy conversing with him." John smirked and walked over the floor, he just couldn't keep himself away from those two. When embracing them, he also took a deep breath of that wonderful scent as he kissed his little head.  
"Good, now you finally have someone to talk to for hours when I'm not listening."

"I never cared if you listened." Sherlock chuckled and kissed his husband. "But both of you are better then my skull." John groaned with a twisted face when he said that.

"Don't compare our son to your skull." he begged him and stroke his hand over Hamish's back, he heard how Sherlock gave him a dark chuckle.

"He's just as talkative as him." he said and John pressed his lips together.

"Yeah, but I don't think he will be as quiet." The child cooed against Sherlock chest and fluttered his eyes and the father heard himself and John holding their breaths. The child looked around with tired blue eyes while sucking his fingers eagerly and John leaned in to make contact.

"Hi Hamish." he whispered and the small boy locked his eyes at him, observing him with curiosity. "Hello little one." Sherlock let out a little laugh and kissed his son's head again, feeling the same pride as at the hospital.

"So you decided to take a look around at last?" he murmured and laid him back in his hands so they could take a look at him. The boy blinked and his gaze shifted between the two parents who was utterly amazed by the little being. So perfect in every way but yet so small, he hardly existed. And even if he was that small, he was the biggest thing that had ever happened to them both.

"Look at you." John chirped and took his little hand. "Are you tired, honey?" They saw the boy yawn and Sherlock felt his heart cramp of love, his eyes widened and he bit down on both his lips.

"Well aren't you just handsome?" he finally got out of his throat and heard of his voice was pitched a couple of notes. Was he going to do something he had feared? Was he going to baby talk to his son? He had promised himself not to do that, but now when he was holding him he started to understand why people were acting so stupid around babies.

"I think the tea is ready." John said and interrupted his pondering. "I made a bottle for him, do you wanna feed him?" There was no way Sherlock was going to turn that chance down.

"Of course I do." he said and placed Hamish on his chest again, carefully leaning his little head to his thing shoulder to feel his small breaths against his neck.

"I'll get it." Sherlock saw him walking to the kitchen and he moved over to the sofa to sit leaning back against the cough he could release his arms around the bundle and take a hold of his little hand, he wanted to observe it, every little finger and nail. This was the first time in his life he had held a newborn because... who would let him hold their baby. He wanted to remember this, not forget a single day or development in his sons life, he was going to remember everything. Hamish moved under the blanket and made a little squeak, Sherlock didn't know why he was changing temper but he could guess.

"Don't worry." he whispered while stroking his hair. "Daddy's getting you some formula right now." Hamish clicked his tongue to his jaw and sucked his fingers again. It looked like he was about to fall asleep again but the sound of the rattling tray made him open his eyes again, John was walking over the floor with tea and biscuits.

"Here." he gave the warm bottle to Sherlock and he placed Hamish back on his arm again, carefully pulling his little arm to get the fingers out of his mouth. Before he could protest Sherlock hushed him gently

"Are you hungry?" he asked in a whisper and stroke the pacifier over his lips. The instinct made him latch on and he sucked it almost violently. "Good boy." he chirped and John played with the velvety hair. Hamish closed his eyes and took a hold of Sherlock's pinky and the detective's heart nearly melted by the touch.

"He was really hungry." John sighed with a broad smile and placed his head on his shoulder. Their little family was complete.

* * *

They took the bedding out of the stroller and placed it on the bed between them, Hamish was sleeping with them tonight so they could bond further. The placed him on the soft blankets and crawled down beside him under the cover. The boy quickly latched on to his fingers, sucked away like there was no tomorrow and they loved the sight of it. Time was closer to six in the morning but they had still no intentions to sleep, they were busy observing the small boy between them with so much aw a human being could possibly contain. John kept his hand on his warm tummy and stroke his thumb back and forth while Sherlock played with his hair, but he was worried about John.

"Will you be able to sleep?" he asked carefully and John cleared his throat.

"I guess." he sighed and Sherlock took his hand, entwined their fingers across Hamish's tummy. "I'm just a little shocked still." Sherlock kissed his fingertips and gave him a tired smile.

"Just wake me if you need me." he pleaded and John nodded, wiped a couple of tears that had started to fall. Suddenly the sobbing began again and how much he even tried to stop it he couldn't hold it back. Now when everything had calmed down and settled in their home they thoughts about his sister came back. Pain and sorrow was taking over and he covered his eyes with his hand.

"Oh John." Sherlock sighed and stroke his cheek, then he turned to the only comfort he knew of. "Do you want to cuddle?" John was to busy making other sounds with his voice, he couldn't answer his husband so Sherlock sat up, climbed over to his other side and laid down behind him. He hugged his body and snuggled into his neck, doing what ever he could to comfort him.

"It's alright John." he whispered. "We all knew she would pass sooner or later." John sniffled and grasped his hand, his body went stiff of his awful words.

"That's not helping." he sighed and his body started to shake violently while holding back the sobbing. Sherlock bit down hard when he understood that he had hurt him, he was really bad at this.

"You know I'm not good at comforting." he sighed in regret and John nodded.  
"I know." he said between sobbing and laughing. "But you're right. I just didn't want it to happen so fast. I'm just glad she got to meet him." He sighed loudly. "Oh god, I'm going to miss her. I'm gonna miss her so much."

"I know." Sherlock said even if he didn't, this kinds of feelings had never been around him before. "At lest she's not in pain anymore." John sobbed loudly and grasped his hand hard to find comfort.

"I'm going to miss her so much. I know she wasn't the best person, but.. " he looked at small Hamish and tried not to sob violently. "But she was the best sister I've could ever have."

"She truly was." Sherlock whispered and kissed his neck. "The best woman I've ever met." He meant it by heart and held John's trembling body, hushed him softly. "It's alright. Calm down." They stayed awake for a couple of moments more, Sherlock holding him tightly until poor John cried himself to sleep. Sherlock had never felt so much pain for someone else before. Sun was rising and a greyish light was lingering around them. The detective spent a couple of moments more by observing his family, Hamish was breathing deeply among the many blankets, once and a while making a little sound, he just loved to hear him. He took a deep breath of John's scent and sighed loudly. He could finally sleep.

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**Hope you enjoyed. r&r! **


	4. Granny

**This chapter is a little agnsty, but I promise, it will get better **

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They two-days-old boy screamed in panic and had done that for the past hour. The doctor walked back and forth in the sitting room and did what he could to calm him, rocking him, patting his back, talking but nothing seemed to help. And like that wasn't enough he was trying to keep himself calm as well, what he really wanted to do fall down in bed and sleep for a hour or two. After all this crying he started to get worried that something was wrong with the boy. "Come on Hamish." he begged him. "Calm down. Everything's fine. I've got you." But Hamish kept screaming. "Do you have a tummy ache?" Hamish coughed by the violent crying and the rage had turned his little face red, he hushed him carefully again. Then he heard the door slam downstairs and quick footsteps in the stairs. It came like a salvation.

"Sherlock!" he shouted and the detective came thought the door, coat swaying and already frowning by the sound of their son. "Where the hell have you been?" Sherlock tossed his coat over the chair.

"What's going on?" he asked and walked over to them with two big steppes to place his hand upon the dark hair on Hamish's head.

"He's been screaming for the last hour. I can't calm him down." Sherlock reached out his arms and received the child. As soon as Hamish's head was laid upon his shoulder he silenced. Just the smell of Sherlock had calmed him and John fell backwards into the armchair with a big sigh, just glad that the room finally was quiet. The detective stared at the little boy, wondering what he'd just accomplished.

"Well, that was easy." he said and John pinched his nose bridge like he was having a headache. Sherlock frowned with a great big smile and smirked. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing." he groaned and crossed his legs, he tried to smother his anger that Sherlock had just disappeared for two hours. "He woke up screaming and have continued since then. Where were you?" Sherlock smiled cockily and nodded to his coat. There was a secret.

"Left pocket." he said and John gave him a sceptic look. What had he done now?

"If I find a bag of fingers in there, I am going to kill you." His husband smirked, gave the coat another nod and John got up to take a look. The coat was heavier than usual and John put his hand down the pocked and felt the package. "What is this?" he asked eagerly and shook the velvety black box with a dark blue ribbon in silk.

"Have you forgotten?" Sherlock asked and rocked little Hamish in his arms. "It's october the 13th." John felt his lips curl into a smile by the romantic gesture and he pulled Sherlock into a deep long kiss. This really cheered him up.

"How come you remembered? Not even I did." Sherlock answered him with another kiss and stroke his fingers through his hair as lovingly as he could.

"Open it." he said and John untied the little bow while Sherlock talked to their boy who was about to go to sleep in his arms. "You've been angry today? Did you miss me that much?" The ribbon fell to the floor and he opened the box to reveal what was on the inside. A beautiful watch appeared, square frame in black and a leather band with brassed buckle. His jaw almost hit the floor by the sight, this was a very expensive gift.

"Sher..." he breathed and stared at it with fluttering eyes. This was the first gift Sherlock ever gotten him and he was so surprised that he tossed his arms around his long neck and kissed his soft lips, feeling little Hamish being squished between them. "Oh Sherlock." The detective kissed him deeply and gave him that cocky smirk that was associated with his smugness. He was clearly high-hatted about this gift.

"Do you like it?" he asked and John picked it up to take a closer look.

"Oh, it's great!" he said and turned it over and saw the graving, Sherlock had kept it simple, three little x's and the date. "Thank you Sherlock." He kissed him again and ran his fingers through his curls. "I love you."

"Well, put it on." He snapped it around his wrist and took a good look at it again, the design screamed "Doctor Watson" and he knew that Sherlock had chosen it carefully.

"It's great." he grinned while shaking his head in disbelief and pulled him into another kiss. But know, he felt stupid for forgetting their date. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"There's no need." he snickered and pushed Hamish closer to his neck, the child cooed as the movements woke him up again. He seemed too calm to have been on edge while he was away. "So why has he been screaming?"

"I don't know." John sighed and fell down on the couch, muttering about the horrible hour he's been having. "He's been panicking. Impossible to calm, he just silenced when you took him." Sherlock fell down beside him and sank far down on the seat. John fell to his shoulder and they observed little Hamish in silence. This were the moments he'd been looking forward to the most. Just sitting quietly, wrapped in each other arms and just watch their little child falling asleep. But Hamish tried hard not to, once and a while he stopped sucking his fingers and dozed of for a couple of seconds before waking up again, looking around and continue sucking his fingers. "I think you're his favourite." he sighed, a little bit of jealousy trapped in his voice, but still incredibly happy.

"No I'm not." Sherlock smirked, but kind of hoping he were. He would never reveal that to John.

"Of course you are. You went out for two hour and he screamed his lungs out. He loves you more than you think." Sherlock turned to John with a wonderful grin and kissed his cheek while giggling happily.  
"He loves you too. Just you wait, when I'm alone with him for the first time, he will probably scream just as much. Maybe he just doesn't like when we're apart." They fell into silence and once again Hamish was about to fall asleep but quickly woke up to check his surrounding in panic.

"Hey.." John whispered and played with his hair. "Sleep if you want to, we'll be here when you wake up." For a long moment, Hamish kept his eyes fixed on John, but soon he slowly dozed of. "Sleep, handsome."

"Turn on the telly, he likes the noise." Sherlock said and pointed to the clicker on the table.

"Do I dare?" John asked with a chuckle. "You'll wake him up if you starts yelling at it."

"I wont yell at the telly when our son is sleeping, I'm not cruel." With those words he reached for the clicker and the t.v came on with a rerun of the office.

"No!" Sherlock said quickly and John changed channel. News. "No!" Shark week. "No!" Futurama. "God no!" A documentary about the bomb industry, John didn't wait for an answer before he changed.

"Let's just watch a movie." he said and switched to the hard drive plugged to the t.v.  
"Oh, let's watch Cousteau!" Sherlock exclaimed like a existed five year-old and John turned on the under water documentary. Even if he didn't find an interest in the sea life in the pacific it was still beautiful to watch. It was odd that Sherlock had this as a go-to-movie, after all sea life wasn't really an important knowledge. John had asked him once but then Sherlock had turned to him with a look that could murder and said "I find the ocean calming". John never bothered to dig deeper in the mystery.

When their minds started to sink into the french documentary and the Cousteau-team explored a beautiful reef in the Pacific ocean, a cold breeze traveled through the room and John shivered on the couch. The blanket folded over the radiator suddenly became very tempting and he got up to fetch it when Sherlock twitched, just like he used to do when he was pulled out of his mind palace.

"What are you doing?" he asked but didn't really care for an answer. A moment later, he and John were tightly wrapped in the warm blanket and the doctor put his arms around him.

"Thank you for the watch." John whispered and kissed his temple, watching the gadget on his wrist. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Sherlock whispered and turned his head to kiss him. "You deserve it."

"It's beautiful." he told him and played with his curls. "I'm going to give you something very special in return." Suddenly, Hamish twitched again and looked around the room in panic.

"What's wrong Hamish?" Sherlock asked him and saw his face grimace in anger and fear as he let out an awful cry. "Hey? Did you have a nightmare?" He placed him in his arms and rocked him gently. "It's okay, I've got you." He hushed him quietly and he calmed down quickly. "There you go. It was just a dream, nothing to worry about." The doctor watched in aw as his husband calmed their son, these two day had been... different, Sherlock had changed into a person full of love and care, it was great to see. But now and then his smugness came back, annoying him until he wanted to tare him apart, which John actually would miss if it disappeared. After all, Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock without the snide and the showing off.

"He's been like this all day." John sighed, getting back to the subject of Hamish's sudden outbursts. The detective placed him back on his chest when he finally calmed and wrapped him in the blanket again. "Do you think it's nightmares?"

"How should I know? I'm not the doctor." Slowly, their son started to doze off again, blinking tiredly and cooed against his chest.

"It will probably pass." John said and leaned in to kissed his little cheek.

"Of course it will. He can't have nightmares forever." But after a couple of minutes, Hamish woke up screaming again, squirming on Sherlock's chest.

"Hamish?" John tried and Sherlock handed him over to him to let him try. John placed him on his chest and hushed him carefully. "What's wrong? There's no need to be scared. Me and dad are both here." He kept screaming and squirming and John buried his nose in his hair, rocking him carefully. "Try to get back to sleep. Nothing's gonna happen. Calm down."

Poor John was tired, he was still in sorrow and exhausted by these past day's events, he was hoping that these upcoming days would be peaceful. But their son was panicking, refusing to sleep and he was getting more tired.

"Have you fed him?" Sherlock asked him and saw how his husbands eyes started to tear up.

"Yeah. One and a half hour ago, he should be hungry yet." John groaned and blinked away the painful tears. He let out a shaky breath and Sherlock straightened in the sofa to embrace him.

"You need to get some sleep." he said and leaned his forehead to his temple. "Let me take him for a while and you can lie down for a couple of hours." John shook his head, he wasn't going to let the sorrow stand in the way for him to take care of his son. The detective sighed and caressed his cheek feeling the tears that had started to fall. "Please John." he pleaded him. "You're still hurting, you need to rest for a bit. I don't like to see you like this." It was true, he never cared about how other people felt or their wellbeing, but when it came to John it was very important. His husband looked down on the screaming boy and hushed gently again.

"Please Hamish. Calm down."

"Let me take him again." Sherlock said again and wound his slender fingers around the bundle to pick him up, John handed him over and let his head fell back to the wall. With a loud groan he hid his face in his hand when all of the sudden, the boy calmed in Sherlock's arms and went into deep sleep.

"Ho ho?" John lowered his hands again and looked to the door, Mrs Hudson stepped inside.

"Mrs Hudson!" John exclaimed and quickly wiped away the tears, he was so glad to see her. "Welcome back!" She had been away at her sister's for the week but hurried home as soon as John had called her and told her about the arrival. The sight of them the brought tears to her eyes and she grasped her heart, just standing still in the doorframe for a moment to observe them. They knew that she'd been looking forward to this since the day they told her and every picture of every ultrasound had a special place on her fridge.

"Oh dear. Look at you three. Isn't that beautiful?" The two fathers sat up straight to look more presentable for the older woman but she shook her head. "Oh please. Don't get up for me."

"He just went to sleep." John whispered. "Come and take a look." Mrs Hudson didn't need to be told twice before she hurried over the room and fell down beside Sherlock. Tears started to fall when she saw Hamish's wonderful face and she stroke his dark hair. Even she could see the similarities between the detective and the child.

"He's much like you, Sherlock." she smiled and Sherlock pushed the blanket away so she could get a better look. "Lucky he didn't get your curls, it would be hard for you to brush it for him."

"I think I could handle it." Sherlock smirked, he was used to tangled curls and painful combing as a child, he had even prepared himself for the screaming and shouting if Hamish would have turned out to be curly haired. "Would you like to hold him?" Mrs Hudson let out a little squeal when she heard the question and nodded eagerly as tears fell from her chin.

"Of course." she sniffled and he placed the sleeping bundle in her arms. "Oh dear, isn't he a beautiful little boy. Hello Hamish."

Now when Sherlock finally had his chance he pulled John into a hug and kissed his temple, he was still carrying the same sad face but now with a smile. He fell into Sherlock's arms and sighed loudly.

"Say hello to granny, Hamish." John said tiredly and Mrs Hudson let out a little sob when she heard him. While looking proudly at little Hamish, she started to cry again.

"Yes, I'm your granny." she sniffled and rocked him gently. "Have you been a good boy to your daddies?" That sentence made John smirk into Sherlock's chest.

"He's been a little cranky today." he said, still feeling the tears burn the bakside on his eyes. "It's hard to get him to sleep." Two seconds later, Hamish squirmed in mrs Hudson's hands and let out a cry, making John clenched his jaw so he wouldn't groan in annoyance. When they thought it was over, it stared all over again, he reached out his arms.

"Oh, you little sweetie." she chirped and placed the boy in John's hands, she could finally wipe her tears. "Have you tried to place him on your chest."

"Of course." John said and rocked the little bundle who's arms were flailing. "I'm a little concerned he's got colic." Even if Sherlock knew very well what colic was he turned to John with fear written all over his face.

"You think?" he exclaimed, terrified that his son was in pain. "Is there something you can do?"

"You know there isn't." John said and Hamish was quiet again. "It will pass eventually."  
"He's really beautiful, and so small. You must be so happy." mrs Hudson sighed and placed her hand on Sherlocks shoulder. "Aren't you Sherlock?" He was the one she was most sceptic about when it came to the love for children, she'd talked to John about it many times. Too many times. Asking him questions about how sure he was about this. She doubted him and John could understand her, everyone had been a little sceptical when new got out that Sherlock was becoming a father. The sociopathic consulting detective who gladly faced death every day just for fun, how would he ever be able to take care of an infant. But they rarely saw the human sides of Sherlock that John faced everyday, many couldn't look beyond rudeness to see the love he carried.

"Obviously." Sherlock said and gave mrs Hudson murderous look, which she never saw because she was to busy watching how John so beautifully bonded with the boy. He turned to see what caused the woman's ridiculous smile and quickly forgot about the doubt he'd heard in her voice and sighed. Their landlady made a sudden squeak and picked up her handbag from the floor, poked around in the many compartments.

"I need a picture." she said and pulled up her camera. "May I?" They didn't mind, so far they had just taken a few pictures on their son, but none of them together, they needed more to sent to Clara and fill up the album that she'd bought them.

"I'm so sorry about your sister, John." The knot tightened in his stomach and he let out a shaky breath when the subject was brought up again. The conversation would make him fall apart if Hudson decided to bring it up further.  
"Yeah, me too." he said simply and stoke his hand back and forth over Hamish's back, he was such a comfort even if he had a cranky day. Luckily, mrs Hudson had something else to talk about with them

"Promise me you'll stop firing guns in the middle of the nigh now, Sherlock." she ordered him and Sherlock rolled his eyes just by the first word. "And no more shouting, you'll scare him."

"Yes, mrs Hudson." he groaned like a five-year-old.  
"Good, I'm sure Hamish will have a very odd childhood. Growing up with a detective and a doctor, I'm sure he will like a good murder as much as you Sherlock."

"Of course he will." Sherlock smirked and kept playing with the velvety hair. "How about dinner mrs Hudson." She pressed her lips together in a thing smile and raised a warning finger.

"I'm not you housekeeper." she reminded them for the hundredth time.

"Just something light." John continued, to exhausted to even care how impolite he sounded and mrs Hudson could as usual not say no to the happy couple, after all, she could see that both of them were tired.

"Alright then." she sighed, still smiling. "Just this once." That was a lie.

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**Hope you liked it. Please leave review. Next chapter is under progress and will be up soon.**


	5. British government to Baker street

**Thank you for all the reviews :) Here's a quick meeting with uncle Mycroft. Pretty short, but he will show up more later on.**

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It was the third time that night the crying woke them both and Sherlock squirmed in bed, trying to get up before John had a chance, he needed the sleep more than him

"I'm coming, I'm coming." he whispered and forced himself out of bed to drag himself across the room the get to the cot. The small child flailed his arms, face red in anger. "Hamish?" He picked him up and held him tight to his naked chest. "What's wrong?" While patting his back he walked around in the room and hushed him carefully, a loud groan was heard from the bed and John hid his head under the pillow. Hamish didn't calm down so Sherlock decided to walk out to the kitchen to make him a bottle, but first he dressed himself in the silky bathrobe. The trip out to the sitting room seemed to be taking forever so late in the middle of the night, but he could walk it without opening his eyes. "It's okay, Hamish." he continued and rocked him gently as he reached the kitchen. "I really hope you're hungry, 'cause if it's something else you're mad about I don't know what to do." He warmed up the bottle in the water-filled pot while trying to wake himself up, blinking hard and yawning. Once the formula was warm enough he dried it on the kitchen towel and walked out to the sitting room. He turned to his armchair and fell down in a tired pile of limbs. Luckily, it was hunger that had made the boy so mad, he latched on to the bottle and Sherlock leaned back in the chair. The cold leather made him shiver and his half-naked upper body started to get goosebumps. He quickly wrapped them in the blanket and turned his gaze to Hamish again. His blue eyes was locked at him, observing his father and Sherlock tilted his head.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked him and felt the little hand wound around his finger. "I would really like to know what's going on in your little head." He sat quietly with him until the bottle was finished and then he placed him on his chest close to his neck. He wrapped them both in the blanked and sank further down in the armchair until he was comfortable enough to sleep. Just a nap, he told himself, just until Hamish was sleeping deep enough.

* * *

John awoke several hours later, knowing without looking that he was alone in the room. It was dark still, the streetlights glowing outside the window with a cloudy dark blue sky above them. Today, five days had passed since his sisters passing. Today he had been a father for five days. He wondered which of those events would determine his spirit this day. No, he was going to be positive from now on, he ordered himself and used all his powers to untie the painful knot in his abdomen that had been there for days, or at lest loosen it. Before slipping his feet into the slippers on the floor he took a couple of deep breaths and did what his psychologist had told him. Breath in the happiness, breath out the sorrow, he could feel his head empty itself of bad thoughts as he did that. The thing was though, that he'd done this every morning this week, and sooner or later the sorrow would always find his way back to his head and heart just as easy as Mycroft could locate him anywhere. There were moments he wanted to kick himself, especially when he saw Sherlock's face. That face he made when he was worried for him, god he hated to see his beautiful features become distorted like that. So, today he would make an extra big effort to be happy, he was going to make a big breakfast, hold little Hamish extra tight, kiss and hug Sherlock until lips and arms was hurting and today, not a single tear would fall down his cheeks. That was what his sister would tell him to do.

"That's and order." he whispered to himself and threw away the cover to get up. He slipped his feet into the slippers, tossed the bathrobe around him and left the room. And, in the sitting room was a sight that made him sure that he would make it through this day without any problem, but it made him brake one of the promises. Tears started to fall and he couldn't understand himself how he had been able to be so sad lately. In the armchair was Sherlock, wrapped in the blanket, sleeping deeply with little Hamish on his chest. Their son, just as gone as his dad had his fingers in his mouth and snored lightly. The beauty of this was powerful enough to smother all the sadness and pains in his body and he felt his legs tremble. This was his family.

He wiped his tears quickly and hurried to the desk to find up the camera. This was going on the fridge. The camera clicked and he realised he'd forgotten the flash. It exploded into a bright light and John held his breath, hoping he didn't ruin the moment. But none of them moved in the chair, Sherlock was still asleep, mouth hanging open and hands steady placed on the child's back. John turned of the flash and snapped another picture before placing it on the table to take a closer look at his son who'd starting making small noises. Two second later, those clear blue eyes were locked on him.

"Hi." he whispered and stroke his cheek with his finger. "Good morning. Have you and dad slept here long?" The boy blinked and sucked violently at his fingers again. "I'll make us some breakfast. Take care of dad meanwhile."

* * *

The smell of scones woke him up and he opened his eyes, daylight was upon them and he realized that he had been asleep way to long in his armchair. Something heavy was lying on his chest and he looked down to see little Hamish, sleeping as usual and sucking away on his fingers.

"Good morning handsome." he groaned and kissed his head, taking a deep breath of his smell. "What's daddy doing? Is he making me breakfast?" Then he realised. Scones? That was all he needed to know that John was in a better mood and he smiled happily. Finally, his husband was coming back, oh how he had missed this side of John. He sat up straight in the armchair and stretched his back that was sore from the awkward position he had been sleeping in. He tightened the blanked around them and sneaked into the kitchen where John just plucked the scones out of the oven. "Good morning handsome." he said a second time and the doctor turned with a smile that Sherlock hadn't seen since... he won that pare of shoes on eBay, not the best example but that was in fact the last time his lips had been carrying that smile. Usually, Sherlock was given that exact same smile when he'd done something romantic, like bought him flowers, or sat through a whole movie with him. God, had he missed that smile.

"Good morning." John replied and and tossed the oven mitt on the counter to embrace them. "Look at you two. All swept in and newly awake." He pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss and pushed the curls out of his eyes, this was the most romantic kiss they'd ever had, so real and so happy. When John backed up, Sherlock was left with a blissful smile and it didn't take long before he pulled his husband in for for a second, just to feel the happiness in their love again. "Did you sleep well in the armchair?" Sherlock groaned and shrugged, his back might just kill him during the day, but who the hell cared now that John was back to normal?

"I've slept better." he chuckled between kisses. "I see you've been up early. Look at that, scones and tea? What have I done to be spoiled like this?" Then John remembered the bread and turned quickly to break it to pieces in the kitchen towel before the steam of it covered the windows.

"I think you know." he said and pulled out a tray from under the counter. "I'm sorry for these last couple of days. I've been such a mess and..." He didn't have time to finish his sentence before he felt Sherlock's gracious hand on his shoulder and he turned around to see the forgiveness written all over him. There were not many times in John's life that he'd seen Sherlock so kind.

"Don't." he said simply and pressed soft lips to his forehead. "I might not understand what you've been going through but..." He was out of words so he just shrugged. "Well... you know." This was their relationship in a nutshell, an ignorant detective and an emotional doctor. Their speeches of forgiveness were never protracted, but yet John found them to be very romantic.

"I love you." he sighed in relief and Sherlock smirked, ready to take back his famous level in smugness again now that his husband was back to normal.

"Love you too." he said and kissed him deeply. "Bring the breakfast to the t.v. I'm turning on the news!" He hurried out to the sitting room before John even had a chance to stop him, but the doctor wouldn't let him get away so easily.

"Remember! You promised me, no news for two weeks! And don't shout, you'll scare Hamish!" He had taken that promise a week ago, just a couple of days before Hamish was born, and he never intended to keep it. John had said it was for his own good, he didn't want him running off because of some faulty report in the middle of Hamish most important days. They needed these two weeks to get close to him.

The detective groaned, but low enough so John wouldn't hear him, and in secret he turned on the morning news, hoping his husband wouldn't mind.

"Earl grey or uncle August?"

"Uncle August! Two sugars and a splash of milk, please!" The news came on and Sherlock was already eager to look for something interesting amongst the reports, when the tray rattled. John carried it to the table and little Hamish woke up by the many sounds. "Hello." Sherlock chirped and saw how he took a good look around, always interested in what was going on, observing.

"I made him a bottle." John reached out the warm formula and circled his fingers around it.

"Lovely. I think he's about to get hungry." Of course he was, Hamish latched on like he didn't know anything else and sucked eagerly. "Good boy." he murmured with a calm smile and John switched channel on the telly. An old episode of family Addams was on and Sherlock sighed. "I was watching the new!"

"I know.." John sighed teasingly and fell to the side, close to his husband and giggled when he could hear him mutter. "And don't shout."

"I'm not."

"You're about to."

As the tray got emptier and bellies warmer by the tea a sort of drowsiness came over them like a wave, making them both of them sink further down in the couch until feet were on he table and blankets were upon them. "You've really been in the mood for cuddling lately." John sighed into Sherlock's hair as he was holding him tightly to his chest.

"Is that a problem?" the detective asked with a yawn that made John chuckle.

"Absolutely not." he whispered and kissed the top of his head, played with the dark curls and finally started to let go of the sorrow for real. He was going to be happy from now on and now he felt ready to get social again. After all, they had many friends who needed to see little Hamish and Hamish needed to get to know the people who was going to be in his life.

"Have you told your brother yet?"

Sherlock groaned in annoyance but John wasn't going to let him shut out Mycroft from his position as an uncle. "Call him today, ask him to come over."

"But he knows..." Sherlock whined like a child, referring to the fact that Mycroft knew everything.

"Of course he does, but he needs to see him in person."

The detective moaned irritably and realised that he would never get away from this.

"Fine, I'll call him." he said while rolling his eyes.

"Today?"

"Yes..." he groaned and slammed his head against the wall behind him.

"Now?"

Sherlock uttered an angry shout and stomped his feet on the floor, making John giggle as he hushed him. "You're being more of a child than Hamish right now." The detective gave him a murderous stare and bit his lips so he wouldn't snap at him. "Call him, now."

"Oh there's really no need." The voice came out of nowhere and the couple turned to the door where Holmes, the older had appeared, dressed nicely enough to receive the queen and fingering on his black umbrella with a wooden handle. Holmes, the younger let out another loud groan and rolled his eyes.

"And look who it is!" he sighed and Mycroft uttered a little smirk as he stepped over the floor.  
"I was planning to come by sooner but due to the circumstances I thought I should wait." Yes, of course Mycroft knew about John's exhaustion and sorrow. The sad fact was that they had postponed any kind of visitors until John had the energy be social again, he'd been a little retracted these last couple of days and it was completely understandable to anyone. "But I decided today would be a good day?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked and heard how Hamish cooed on his chest. The umbrella swayed back and forth in Mycroft's hand and then pointed it to the tray.  
"Scones." he said simply. Even if the couple knew that he was referring to that John was back in mood and had made breakfast because he was happy, Sherlock didn't miss this opportunity.

"Look at that." he grinned teasingly. "Mycroft can smell bakery all the way from the palace." The doctor closed his eyes hard and fought the giggling in his chest. His husband, the teasing genius. But Mycroft was just as quick.

"You should speak. Two pounds, is it?"

"Yes, but I'm still technically underweight. How is the diet going?" The older brother pressed his lips together until they became white and took a deep breath though his sharp nose, not planning to answer that question. John decided to leave them to it and flew up from the couch.

"Tea?" he asked Mycroft while passing by and the the older Holmes pulled out the chair from the desk to take a seat. The detective sighed loudly and gazed down on little Hamish who curiously looked around in his arms.

"So." his brother started and spun his umbrella on the carpet. "How's life, little brother." Stupid question, Sherlock thought, and gave his brother a look that said 'Seriously?', Like Mycroft didn't know already. "You seem happier than ever."

"He is!" John shouted from the kitchen and the brother chuckled when he saw the detectives eyes darken. "Sugar?"

"No thank you." Mycroft answered without taking his eyes of his baby brother. "How's fatherhood then?" His voice was loud enough for them both to hear, but he was mainly asking his brother who was cuddling with the small boy.

The moment that Mycroft had walked into the apartment, the childhood anger that had lived inside of him started to find its way out in his body again, all the way out to his fingertips. Usually, he wanted to bully his brother until he decided to leave, and that had been the plan today as well. When Mycroft had sat down in front of him, there were so many things he wanted to remark, but a second later, the detective laid his eyes upon his son and... didn't feel the need to even care about his brother presence. His brother wasn't as important, his brother was boring, old news, like a solved crime.

"Sherlock is doing great." John answered for his husband and placed the cup and saucer in Mycroft's hands. "Scones?" He shook his head and John fell down on the couch again.

"So, it suits you then?" Mycroft asked and blew on his tea, tapping his foot on the floor.

"Oh don't be silly." Sherlock chuckled cockily without taking his eyes of Hamish. "I'm the best father anyone could have." The older brother crocked his head and watched his brother under thick eyelashes, like he didn't believed what he'd just heard; the doctor pressed his lips together and gave the older Holmes a smile, he knew exactly what Mycroft was thinking.

"Yeah, you heard him right." he smirked and placed his arms around Sherlock who was shifting his eyes between the two men.

"What?" he asked and didn't understand their exchange of looks. "Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock was used to silence and weird looks when he'd said something inconvenient or mean.

"No." John said quickly and smiled from ear to ear as he looked at their little boy. "No, of course not."

"Most people are just... a little surprised that you handle your role as a father so incredibly well." Mycroft smiled and sipped his tea. The fuse was lit, any time now Sherlock would go off like a bomb of anger. Fingers cracked and his mouth thinned until his lips were so tight together that John doubted he would ever be able to part them again. He needed to stop the two brothers before world war of words broke out.

"So!" he said loudly and eyes big as saucers, afraid that Sherlock would interrupt him any time now. "Mycroft. You wanna hold your nephew?"

"Should we? Really?" Sherlock asked, nearly growled and eyes shooting hate at his brother. The doctor chuckled and lifted little Hamish from his husband's chest.

"Don't be silly, love."

Hamish looked a little different now, in just five days the wrinkles had left his skin and he was less pink, he didn't look quite as newborn anymore, his hair was thicker and fluffier and eyes had turned into a green-blue shade. He looked more like Sherlock for everyday. John carried the boy to his uncle who put away his cup before receiving him. The bundle landed in his slender hands and his blue eyes fell upon the little face.

Sherlock observed in silence, clenching his jaw, because even if he wanted to snatch his son out of his brothers arms, he kept himself calm. After all, Mycroft would be a very important part in Hamish's life, he couldn't let his own contempt for his brother keep uncle and nephew apart. And he saw everything, every change in his brother's eyes, face and body. Pupils dilated, cheeks flushing pink, biting his bottom lip, movement were less harsh... christ, Mycroft adored his little nephew already. Mycroft, the man who never let a person into his life except colleagues and clients had feelings for another human being? What was Hamish doing to the two Holmes- brothers, Sherlock questioned himself. How was it possible that a child, only five days old, had this effect on people? Just by observing, Sherlock could tell that Mycroft was worthy of being Hamish's uncle. Hope he was ready for babysitting in the future.

"He looks very much like you, brother." said Mycroft and pushed the blanket away from Hamish's face, his eyes glittering in happiness of having a little nephew. "Lucky he didn't get your hair."

"Oh do shut up." Sherlock groaned but still with a smile on his face. John stood on the middle of the carpet, stretching his back with arms over his head, he decided not to interfere in their little moment, so he scratched the back of his head and inform them that he needed a shower. With that, the brothers were alone in the room.

"It glads me to see that you've taken care of John in such a loving way." said Mycroft after hearing the door look behind the doctor. "It's a very... unusual sight." Sherlock swept himself in the blanket and got up to refill his cup with some more tea from the kitchen.

"You once said that caring isn't an advantage." he said passing by and disappeared around the corner. "But I have to disagree nowadays." He could hear his brother chuckle as he filled his cup, he knew that Mycroft thought he had gone weak and maybe he had, but why bother? He was feeling happier than ever. Then his brother said something he would never forget.

"I envy you, brother."

Sherlock turned to the doorway, not seeing the man but just staring into the room were he sat. A word that Mycroft never used before had come out of him.

"You envy me?" he asked and dropped two spoons of sugar into the drink before going back into the sitting room.

"It seems like your husband has made you more human than anyone dared to imagine." Holmes, the older said and seemed to be hypnotised by the little being in his arms. "And I always thought I would be the one having a son in these times. It glads me to see that I was wrong for once." Sherlock didn't like this subject, this conversation needed to change before his brother got carried away and started to become to emotional, so he just thanked him and thought of a new subject.

"Anything new? John wont let me watch the news for two weeks."

Except the small sounds coming from Hamish, the room had fallen into silence, Sherlock eyeing his brother when he started to realise there was something hidden. He crocked his head and entwined his hands under his chin. "Well.." Mycroft snorted and stood up, giving the child a last good look before returning him to his father.

"He's very handsome." he said and Sherlock mirrored his brother to take his son from him. "Even if he looks like you." The sound irony in his voice would have been clear for any other person, but it went past the intelligent detective.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice nearly stuck in his throat as he tried not to snap at him in front of his son, but Mycroft gave him a teasing smirk.

"Always nice to see you brother." he said and swayed his umbrella as he moved towards the door. "A parcel should arrive for you before the weekend. Send my regards to Mrs Hudson." But Sherlock wasn't done with him.

"So there aren't any cases?" To his disappointment his brother started to whistle as he walked down a stairs and that was it, Mycroft had left the flat, leaving Sherlock unknowing of the outside world. He had never felt so trapped, but, he had a promise to keep. Nine more days, then he could update himself again. Hamish uttered a small whimper against his shoulder and he looked down to see him gazing around with blue-green eyes, like he was making sure that he was back in arms were he belonged. But even if this beautiful boy could make Sherlock take his mind of anything, it was impossible this time. Something was going on in the outside these walls and he needed to know what.

"He already left?" John was walking through the hallway, wrapped in his striped bathrobe and a towel around his shoulders, smiling like he thought that he'd just scared Mycroft away. "What did you do to him?" Sherlock shrugged and swallowed hard, John could see his adam's apple bobbing in his slim throat, something had upset him. "Or... what did he do to you?" Sherlock turned to him, giving him a sharp look and that was all John needed to understand what was going on. It felt bad to disappoint Sherlock, but he shook his head. "Please, whatever he said, I don't want you running off now." The detective bit his bottom lips and gave John those puppy eyes that would make John do anything he begged him, of course it worked this time as well. He sighed and reached out his arms to take Hamish from him, putting him close to his neck and gave his husband a weak smile.

"Just take a look around the internet. I'll let you work from home, but no running off." He clapped his hand together like an old lady and leaned in for a kiss, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Thank you!" he nearly shouted and tossed himself across the room to get to the computer.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. **


	6. Can't swim?

**Lestrade and Donovan meets little Hamish.**

* * *

He should never had let Sherlock onto the laptop. Here they were, two hours after breakfast, in a cab on their way to the Yard. Back on track, as Sherlock so nicely put it when he dressed Hamish in the little overall, and John actually had to agree with him. Two weeks of waiting might have been a exaggeration even for him. Several days bunkered up in the flat would eventually take a toll on his nerves, and Sherlock would probably be impossible to live with. This was for the best. Hamish sat between them in the cab, not a care in the world of were his fathers were taking him, he just seemed happy to be back in the carrier again.

"A week." John reminded him strictly for the third time during the ride. "A bloody week."

"Yes." Sherlock groaned, eyes locked on his phone and probably not even hearing him.

"I'm serious Sherlock. A whole week. I'm not changing him a single time." Nappy-changing was Sherlock punishment for breaking his promise and he easily agreed He was eventually going to break that promise as well and they both knew it. "So what did you find?" Getting back to the subject and Sherlock immediately seemed intrigued to speak. By lowering his phone John could tell that he already had his theories.

"Three men, hanged, a two days gap between, all three apartments flooded." He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Hamish observing him and a skew smile appeared in his face as he crocked his eyebrow. "Did you hear that Hamish, your first case might just be a serial killer. What a start." He turned to John who was giving him that ridiculous smile that he loves. "Something to scribble down in the baby-book, don't you think?" The passing cars caught the doctors eye as he turned to the window laughing. It would certainly be some weird inputs in the book, first steps, first smile and first corps examination.

"Yes, Clara would be so delighted to read about how Hamish solved the 'Water gallows'." That was the first name that came to mind when he planned names for his blog-entry, but he could hear Sherlock snort, he did clearly not agree.

"Water gallows?" he mouthed but John could hear him clearly. "Were's your imagination?"

"Hangman?" Both Hamish and Sherlock yawned and John pressed his lips together when he realised none of them agreed. "No?" The detective closed his wide mouth and rubbed his eye.

"Let's solve the case before we name it, shall we?" he said and the cab drove in by the Yard. They payed the cabbie and Sherlock seized the carrier before he got out of the car. He slammed the door behind them and turned to the large grey building.

As always the officers where running around, asking each other stupid questions as they tried to solve simple crimes. Sherlock despited the first floor of the Yard, it was like looking at ants in an ant farm. Legwork and dirty work. A short elevator ride later and three floors higher they were finally knocking on D.I Lestrade's door. As always, Sherlock didn't wait for a welcoming but bursting into the office and ready for crime solving. Their friend was sitting by the computer, tapping the keys fanatically and to concentrated in his work to take his eyes of the screen.

"Ah, my consulting detective and the doctor. I was wondering when you would show up." He wrapped up his document and Sherlock moved over to the file lying on the desk behind the computer. "Three persons, ages 16, 18 and 35, hanged by the neck. Cause of death, suffocation."

"Well of course. They were hanged." Sherlock smirked and saw the photos of the bodies. There were traces of adhesive around their mouths an he came to a quick conclusion. "Were they still taped when you found them?" John joined his side and took the photo of the oldest man to examine it.

"Taped?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock took that as a no.

"Yes, you can clearly see here..." he started and placed the carrier on the desk so he could point at the picture, but in the next second, Lestrade's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Is that a kid?" he nearly shouted and John looked up from the picture. The D.I couldn't believe his eyes as he saw the little infant in front of him. "Don't tell me this is one of your weird experiments." Sherlock was to busy investigating the file to even care about Lestrade's reactions, but John shook his head in disbelief.

"We.. we told you about it three months ago." he said with and unsure smile, eyebrows knitting together over his nose. Had the man honestly forgotten?

It had been that dreadfully warm summer evening. A corpse had been found in a container in an alley. It'd been lying there for days in the blazing sunlight, the smell had been to much for all of them and that was the only time Sherlock had complained about his strong senses, dry heaving behind a trash can when not even a handkerchief could cover up the horrible smell. Donovan and Anderson had them self an enjoyable laugh at him the rest of the evening. When Sherlock's urges finally came to an end Lestrade decided to buy them a beer to help Sherlock get the awful taste of stomach acid out of his mouth. That's when they told him about their upcoming parenthood, but Lestrade didn't seem interested in their news, he quickly got back on the case.

"I thought you were joking." Lestrade said after a long look at the child in front of him.

"Apparently not." Sherlock sighed and closed the file. "So, all the apartments were flooded..."

"Hang on!" Lestrade raised from his chair and took a good look at them both. "You two have some explaining to do. How can he be so alike you both? I mean... you both can't be the father..s?" The last 's' was put there due to Lestrade's ignorance of how this child actually came to exist. He, as everyone else, could see the resemblance little Hamish had to them both. But of course neither Sherlock or John could have been able to give birth to him, so Lestrade was confused.

"We was about to tell you everything about it, but you seemed more interested in the 'Dumpster-boy'." Yet another name of John's blog entries. Lestrade swallowed hard and scratched the back of his head as he tried to understand, and Sherlock seemed more interested in the case than explaining about Hamish's arrival to the world.

"That is hardly the end of it." Lestrade grinned and looked at the both men in the room. "You're parents! Who the hell saw that coming!?" Obviously, Lestrade was going to react like an other idiot and Sherlock sighed loudly, his head fell back as he did but John grabbed his arm.  
"Calm down, Sherlock." he pleaded him and unbuckled the belts around Hamish's body. "The man is surprised. Do you wanna hold him." He gave Lestrade a questioning look and the D.I closed his mouth that had been hanging open. It was still hard for him to believe that the little boy actually existed. But when he was put in his hands and he felt the proof of him, a smile appeared on his face.

"Well look at you." he grinned. "What's his name?"

"Hamish." answered Sherlock and seemed to forgotten the files for the moment, to busy making sure that Lestrade didn't drop little Hamish. Greg's eyes widened when the little child yawned and he looked like he was about to melt in his presence. The room fell silent for a couple of minutes as the three grown men just held their breaths, somewhat a lousy try not to disturb the sleeping boy who on the other hand wasn't unknown to sleep past loud noises. But still, it seemed like something you did amongst small children.

"How can he be?" asked Greg suddenly and looked up from the child. "I mean, he's so like you Sherlock, but he clearly got your nose." He was looking at John, and soon pulled a face when he saw how his shoulders sank on his body like he'd just been punched in the chest. But the doctor quickly recovered, thinking about the promise he'd made himself earlier that morning when he felt Sherlock's warm hand around his wrist.

"It was John's sister who carried him." Sherlock explained to let John avoid bringing it up with own words. He knew how heartbreaking that was for him.

"Your sister?" the inspector exclaimed. "I didn't know you had one." And John bit his bottom lip and felt his eyebrows knit together as his face bundled up, just by those few words.

"Not any more." he said with a voice that didn't want to leave his throat, it came out not sounding like him. "She er... she was sick." The tears started to burn his eyes and he took a deep breath to calm himself from sorrow. "I'm sorry, can we just..." With a lot of effort he managed to force a smile to his lips and he blinked a couple of times before he turned to Greg again. "I don't really want to go into that right now."

The door flew open and Donovan appeared, buttoning her coat in a hurry.

"Sir, there's been another murder!" she started and looked up from her working fingers when her eyes suddenly darkened. "Oh, it's you two..." The hatred was still there. Five years and she still despited the couple more than anything. Then she saw the baby and she pushed the door until it was wide open. "What the hell is that!?" Greg looked just as irritated as the other two men and he placed Hamish in Sherlock's arms so they could strap him back into the carrier. "You're letting him hold it!?" Sally stared at the 'freak' in the room and John thought that any second now she would pull the child out of his arms to 'save' him from him.

"Of course." said Greg and reached for his jacker on the hanger. "It's his." A small laugh was heard from the sergeant and she turned to walk away. But John knew, that as quick as the chance was given to her, she would explain exactly what her thoughts was about this, but as long as Lestrade was close to them, she didn't have the courage.

"Well then." Sherlock said happily and placed Hamish in the carrier. "Text me the address and we'll meet you there."

* * *

The doctor glanced at his husband beside him in the cab who was looking at his phone, searching the web for god knows what and didn't seem care at all about Sgt. Donovan's dreadful reactions to Sherlock's new title. Father. John would never forget the look on her face. She was actually prepared to snatch the baby from his arms only a moment later if Greg hadn't told her that he belonged to Sherlock. Was her suspicion about him that strong that she really thought that he was capable of hurting an infant? What did she think Sherlock would do to him? And then the laugh, the awful laugh filled with discredit and almost a joy, like she was looking forward to see them fail.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock suddenly asked without looking up from his phone and John turned his head to face him fully.

"What?"

"You're eying me like a hawk. Something is clearly bothering you." Fingers worked quickly over the screen and John was amazed of that he could talk and type at the same time.

"What are you doing?" he asked as a try to change the subject but Sherlock wasn't going to let him slip off that easy.

"You've been awfully quiet since we left the Yard. What's on your mind?" To the doctors surprise, Sherlock lowered his phone and faced him, putting all his concentration at him. There was no use to hide it from him, he might as well come clean.

"It's just.. that Donovan." he sighed and caressed his forehead. Just her name made Sherlock groan irritably.

"Why put your energy on her when there's a serial killer to find?" he asked him and blew the curls out if his eyes. "Haven't I told you not to care about what other people think?"

"I don't care about what she thinks. I care about what she says!" said John sharply and shut his eyes tight. "It never bothered me when she threw out her thought about you and me but... if she's going to talk bad about Hamish I don't think I will be able to look past it." Sherlock flinched and tugged the belt when his whole upper body turned to the doctor. A sudden hatred that had been on ice for many years started to fire up inside him. Donovan was an idiot that he'd been ignoring, but, if her words about his son turned bad he was not going to ignore her any more.

"Do you think she will?" he growled and his blue-green eyes pierced deeply into John who now was observing their sleeping son.

"I think she will as soon as Lestrade's not in hearing distance." he answered him truthfully as the cab drove into the alley. "As she always does."

Sherlock was the first one out of the car, quickly looking over the area for any thing out of the ordinary. Water was flooding down the short stair leading into the building and he saw the officers closing down the premisses. Two seconds later, he was inside and John was left to pay the cabby. He stepped out with the carrier in his hand when he heard the annoying voice.

"So, what stupid sod left the kid with you two?" Cheeks were burning when he turned to the woman and his jaw looked itself from saying all the bad words that needed out. "How long do you think you'll keep him before the social service snatches him out of your hands?"

"You clearly don't know what you're talking about, Sally." he said in a warning tone but the woman didn't catch it. She crossed her arms with a laugh and wobbled back and forth on her feet like if her confidence put her off balance.

"Oh don't I? I've seen you running around the crime scenes for years. I can't understand why you married that freak when he still treats you like shit. Is he still running off on you?" The doctor felt his hand curl up into a rock hard fist and his stare didn't let Donovan out of sight, he didn't even blink. "How long do you think you will be able to keep him? A week? Or do you think you'll last even that long?" The next second passed without John realising, Donovan was pressed to the brick wall behind them and Hamish was safely placed on the ground beside him. Nails were digging into her wrist and his other hand grasped painfully around her shoulder. He didn't care if what he did was wrong or if others were watching, this needed to be done.

"I never care when you speak badly about me or Sherlock!" he growled and Donovan's eyes grew large as saucers. "But damn you Sally if you start to talk trash about how we take care of our son. Your getting into an area were you don't belong so keep your mouth shut." The woman opened her mouth to speak but John didn't want to hear her voice. "Don't you dare, Sally. Don't you dare." He gave her a light shove to the wall behind her before he released her limbs. Still not letting her out of sight he picket up the carrier. He didn't care about her tears, he didn't care about the officers that had witnessed the scene. The only thing he cared about now was Hamish, and no one was going to hurt Hamish.

Sherlock saw how John pushed the woman up against the wall and the man hanging from the roof lost all it's importance, he needed to get to John. Even Lestrade had seen it and were at Sherlock's heels down the stairs. They didn't make it far before John met them up in the small corridor, looking like he was about to punch a hole in the wall.  
"John!?" shouted Sherlock worriedly and received the carrier before John stormed off into the public toilets at the end of the hall. "What happened?" The door slammed behind him and Greg stood frozen beside the detective. Sherlock looked down on Hamish who was deeply asleep under his blanket before he stepped over to the door, giving it a careful knock. "John?" The water was running freely, he couldn't hear what John was doing. "John?" he tried again and the tap was shut.

"Just give me a minute." he groaned and fell down on the lid of the toilet. Deep breaths, deep breaths, he told himself. He wouldn't let the tears fall, he wouldn't let his left hand tremble, he wouldn't let Donovan get into his mind. That damn woman.

"John? Please." There was a tone of desperation in his dark voice.

"Just a bloody minute!" he shouted angrily and pulled his hair by the roots. Then he heard the cries coming from the other side of the door and he bundled up his face into a painful grimace.

Sherlock picked him up from the carrier and swaddled him in the blanked before putting him on his chest. If John was having a fit of panic in there, he wanted to be in there to hold him, he needed John to let him do that. But John had so strictly told him that Hamish's needs went before everything else right now so he put all the attention to calm him.

"It's okay." he cooed and rocked him gently. "Don't worry, daddy will be out in a second." But Hamish screamed loudly into the crock of his neck, probably picking up that something was wrong with his father. The DI tried to catch a look down the corridor out on the street. He'd seen exactly what Sherlock had seen and he knew about the nicknames she had for them. But he'd never been there for her accusations and harsh words. The lock on the door clicked and John pushed it open, looking more like a solider than a doctor. Face strict and head held high, Sherlock had seen him like this before but not Lestrade. It was a face he carried whenever he forced himself to be strong and block out all the feelings.

"What happened?" asked Lestrade quickly and saw how he reached out for the bundle in Sherlock's arms. The father opened his jacket and held him to the warmth of his chest before he released a hugh breath.

"Let's just crack on." he sighed and felt Sherlock's warm hand upon his shoulder. The touch from him was always comforting and John started to put the event behind him. But, he gave Greg a warning stare, signalling him not to ask any questions, and Greg didn't. Both he and Sherlock knew that John wouldn't lay a hand on someone who didn't deserve it.

* * *

They were back at Baker street with a cranky Hamish, hungry and tired and way to much overstimulation from all moving around the last four hours. In other words, he was not happy at all.

"Next time we're leaving him with mrs Hudson. This was a stupid idea." muttered John and placed the child among the many blankets on the sofa. His small arms and legs were flailing as he wailed out in anger and hunger.

"Oh, I think he will manage." said Sherlock and continued to tap away on his laptop which he'd done from the moment they'd entered the flat. "He needs to learn." John swaddled the boy and picked him up in his arms to give him the bottle. He knew how eager Sherlock was to train the boy but what was the use now when Hamish couldn't even lift his head.

"He can wait a couple of months for that." John sighed as the crying came to an end and his face went calm. "There you go. One problem out of the way." Sherlock growled and uploaded the pictures from his phone to the laptop. They'd decided to examine photos rather then stay at the crime scene for hours, Hamish wouldn't agree to be away from home such a long time.

"I think I've got a name for your blog entry." he said suddenly with a smirk and turned the screen to John. "See here?" The sole of a foot was staring back at him and he squinted to get a better view. The skin was blue, almost black and John had seen this before.

"That's frostbites." he exclaimed and Sherlock picked up the laptop to sit down beside him on the sofa. The picture became clearer and the doctor closed in on it to see the wounds and marks. "It's like he's been standing in snow for hours."

"Yes, but the water was steaming hot." said the detective and touched his lips as he observed the picture. "The killer left them on ice block. The victim stood with the rope around his neck, just waiting for the ice to melt. He gave himself a head start." He looked fascinated by his discovery.

"A head start for what?" John asked and Sherlock chuckled happily.

"Maybe he needed to be somewhere else while his victim died. He hung two feet above the floor, let's say he stood on a block half a feet higher that that. It would take at lest three hours for the ice to melt before the snare would start to choke him. But with all that hot water quickening the process it must have taken less than an hour. What do you think?" John swallowed hard and pondered.  
"The block must have been higher and bigger, those wounds doesn't happen under an hour. I would say two." Sherlock loved hearing his husband using his medical skills to solve crimes, it was one of the sexiest things his he could do. It always set Sherlock's body on fire.

"And that is why I love you." he said quickly and clicked on the next picture while John giggled. "What about this then?" The victims face showed up. Oddly, there wasn't a single bruise or cut on his face, just a redness around his lips. Probably a reaction to the tape that had been smothering him. "It doesn't make any sense. None of the bodies were taped when they were found, but the evidence is there that they have been. They must have been taped when they died because no one heard them shouting for help." John frowned.

"You think the murdered came back later to remove it?" Sherlock didn't answer, he was to busy pondering and John decided not to bother him. After all, Hamish needed to be put to bed so he retreated to the bedroom. He let out a small cry when John removed the empty bottle from his lips and he placed him up on his shoulder to burp him. They'd just changed his sheets and he wanted them to be clean from throw-ups just for a couple of days. There was a small crack, and he turned to the door to see Sherlock standing in the frame. Something was wrong with him, all signs of curiosity and joyfulness of having a crime to solve seemed to have left him.

"I can't..." he started and smothered a hand across his chest, flicking his fingers over the buttons that was barely holding his shirt together.

"Are you alright?" John asked him and the detective crossed the room to get to him. He looked worried, angry, something was bothering his else wise very organised mind, scrambling it around.

"Tell me what happened with Donovan." he pleaded and John's stomach turned by the name only. "Please." But Hamish needed to be put to bed, so he told Sherlock to wait. His husband didn't leave the bedroom when he tucked in their son under the blanket. That's when John saw the skull at the end of the cot. He'd noticed that it had left the mantle piece some time during the week, but how long had it been in the presence of Hamish?

"What is this doing here?" he asked and picked up Sherlock's 'friend'. But Sherlock snatched it out of his hands and placed it back on the cot.

"It's looking after him." he answered shortly and pulled the small socks of the tiny feet. "Just, let i be." Sherlock wasn't superstitious, but the skull was important to him. It had looked after and protected him those years he'd lived alone and it was Hamish turn to have him as a friend. "His feet are cold." His big hands folded around them and the boy cooed silently, probably enjoying the warmth and touch from his father.

"Hello!?" A voice shouted from the sitting room and they knew it was Greg. An hour early and Sherlock could feel the smell of cheesecake before he'd even left the bedroom. He would never understand the need of buying sweets or pastries whenever you were invited somewhere. And he didn't even like cheesecake. John ran off to receive him and Sherlock was left alone in the room with Hamish, pulling the blanket closer to his face.

"Daddy might not understand, but the skull here will take care of you when we're not around. There's no need to be sceptical about him, he's very quiet and a good listener."

* * *

"We need to talk about what happened at the crime scene." said Lestrade suddenly after swallowing the last mouthful of tea and John froze in his chair. Without noticing, his left hand started to tremble and the tea spilled over the brim of the cup. The trembling had been coming and going more frequently since his sisters death and he was unable to control it. He put down the cup and hid it under the table before any of them saw him shaking. "I talked to Donovan. But I want to hear your version of it too." The room fell silent except for Sherlock smattering with his fingers against the table. John cleared his throat and dropped his gaze down in his drink, he didn't want to look at any of them. Yet, he didn't regret his doing. "I know she always has a way of getting to your nerves but... it must have been quite out of the ordinary to push her up against the wall."

"Is she going to press charges?" Sherlock asked and and noticed John's trembling hand under the table since he was sitting next to him. He grasped it and entwined their fingers to calm him.

"Of course not, there was no harm done. But I need to know what happened, since... it occurred during work hours. What did she say?" John's head went blank for a moment and he brushed a finger over his eyebrow before meeting Lestrade's stare.

"You've hear her." he began with a voice slightly weaker than his. "How she's always throwing out her opinions and deductions about us." Greg nodded and swallowed another spoon of cheesecake.

"Yes, but there's no need to go violent. Is there?"

"She crossed the line." John answered and crumpled the napkin with his free hand, squeezing it firmly until it was as hard as the wood it once was.

"How much?" It was now Sherlock who brought up the questions and John licked his dry lips.

"She was questioning me of how long we thought we would be able to keep him before the social service will take him. And, who could be so stupid to leave him with us." The DI's eyes darkened and so did Sherlock's. John quickly regretted his confession since this would definitely bring Sherlock into a bad mood rest of the evening.

"Well, just another proof that Donovan is an idiot." said the detective when a cry was heard from the bedroom. "I'll get him." He released his trembling hand and hurried out of the room when Lestrade cut up another piece of the cheesecake for himself.

"Donovan can be quite an arse from time to time, but i did not expect this from her." A deep breath filled John's lungs and he lifted his head again. "She said she'd crossed the line but I knew how far."

"It was mostly the heat of the moment." said John and eased his grip around the napkin that was damp of his sweat. Greg took his chance to ask John the question he didn't dare to say in front of Sherlock.

"So how is he?" Lestrade asked while chewing the cake. "As a father I mean?" A smile twitched his lips and he quickly forgot about the horrible woman. "I have always wondered how he would be."

"He's brilliant. He treats Hamish like any other human being and tries to treat him like a grown up. Accept that he forgets himself sometimes and slips into baby talk." They laughed lowly and saw how Sherlock entered the kitchen with Hamish on his chest.

"There's the lad of the evening." Lestrade exclaimed and reached for his bag on the floor. "I've got him a present." A small box was placed on the tablecloth and Sherlock frowned.

"He's to little to understand gifts." he said and John chuckled when he saw his face.

"It's what people do, Sherlock. Get used to it."

"Can I hold him?" Greg asked and Sherlock didn't hesitate this time. Lestrade had proven his qualities the last he held him and had earned the privilege to do it once more. Greg took him and immediately his voice raised two octaves.

"Hello Hamish." he chirped and John stood up to tend to the dishes when Sherlock pushed him down on the chair again. "Well you've gotten cuter since the last time I saw you."

"Impossible." Sherlock smirked and to John's surprise, he was the one to take care of the dishes for once. "Why don't you unwrap the gift, John?" The doctor reached for the small velvet box and untied the little blue bow around it. On the other side of the table, Greg was still playing with the half awake Hamish.

"First crime scene today and everything. There will be more of those, can be sure of it. With a daddy like Sherlock it's most likely that you will see more bodies than any other little boy."

"Oh, I'm dad. John's daddy." Lestrade looked up at Sherlock who was drying his wet hands on the towel. "Or father and dad, we haven't decided that yet." The lid came off and a little key appeared.

"What is this?" John asked and picked it up.

"I've got him a bike." Lestrade grinned. "I know it's early, but I thought, since Sherlock can't ride one you'll probably never get him one." John flinched and held back his giggling.

"You can't ride a bike?" he asked and turned to his husband who was about to kill Greg with his death stare. He didn't need to answer the question. "Why not? You never learned?"

"Thank you Lestrade. A great gift he can't use for years." he cheered ironically and Greg grinned. "And don't mock me. I was to busy doing other things than learn to bike." But Greg continued to laugh without taking his eyes of the boy.

"You have a very weird dad, Hamish. It wouldn't surprise me if he couldn't even swim." Sherlock tossed the towel on the counter and pulled the full plate away from Greg, even if he knew that he planned to finnish it.

"Of course I can swim." he muttered.

* * *

**Please excuse my lack of writing skills in this chapter, and as you might notice I am really bad at writing detective stories. Hope you don't mind. I just kind of wanted to get this chapter over with so I can begin with an older Hamish. (much more fun) But I needed this chapter so the relationship between Hamish, Lestrade and Donovan would be clear for upcoming events. **


	7. Don't touch the skull

**An older Hamish now. Already four. Times moves so quickly...**

* * *

Days passed faster than they had time to blink. Every day, Hamish did something to surprise them. One morning John had woken up to the shouting of Sherlock and he hurried out to the kitchen, prepared for the worst, but was met by the sight of Hamish walking across the room. The child was laughing, clapping his hands at himself as he accomplished something he'd trained for for weeks. Not long after that, he started running. He was impossible to keep up with and he was always up to something. Sherlock loved to sit back at just observe as Hamish reached for everything close by just to examine it. Ripping newspapers and documents, as long as he didn't touch the books. This meant that John often came home to a flat full of bits of papers that he would have to clean up, but he never complained. At lest, this mess wasn't even close to the clean ups he needed to do before he was born. Blood and chemicals.

There was just one problem. More than four years passed and Hamish still didn't speak. He hadn't uttered a word, not as much as a squeak. This worried Sherlock who feared he would never speak, but John was sure Hamish had selective mutism. To afraid to speak in some situations. With a father like Sherlock around it wasn't surprising if Hamish was shy since he often used complicated words and long sentences. But, John never told Sherlock that, he just said that Hamish might be late in his speech. This, of course stared an argument. Hamish was so quick with everything else, why would he be so slow with the most important way of expression? Sherlock was annoyed.

John folded the newly washed sheets as Hamish rushed across the sitting room with the glass box containing a dead beetle, proudly showing it to Sherlock who laid sprawled on the sofa.

"Yes Hamish. It's a beetle." he said and Hamish was off again. The child enjoyed bringing him things to hear the name of them. Everything in every room had probably been shown to him more than twice. He reached the desk and climbed up on the chair to reach the pencil sharpener.

"Sherlock, please." said John and nodded to the boy. Sherlock turned his head and saw Hamish's sticky fingers on the device.

"Hamish, it's a pencil sharpener. Now, get down from there, please." But Hamish slipped with his hand on the desk and the chair rolled away under his feet. Sherlock was quick as a cat and left the sofa, caught the boy in his hands before he hit the floor. He landed on his knees with the boys back pressed to his chest.

"Hamish!" John rushed across the room, tipping over the laundry basked and all the folded clothes and sheets spread over the floor.

"He's alright." Sherlock breathed and put him down on the floor. The boy quickly ran away, exploring something else and John let out a big breath of relief. "See what he's up to now." And so, John was out of the room as well, leaving Sherlock on his knees on the floor.

For days now, a sharp head ache had come and gone and none of the remedies he'd tried helped. And standing up quickly to toss himself after Hamish had left him dizzy and nauseous. His limbs were about to give up on him, he could tell. Movements weren't as smooth as they should and he looked down on his shaking hands. Should he tell John? Hamish came running again with a book in his hands hand holding it up to his face.

"I think he wants you to read it for him." John shouted as he walked out from the kitchen. His smile faded quickly as he saw Sherlock still on the floor, pinching his nose bridge. "You okay?" The answer was no, but he was to proud to confess it. It wasn't a good time to be sick, it had to wait.

"I'm fine." he lied and looked at the book in Hamish's hands. "The bird that turns up the world?" He was utterly surprised about Hamish's choice of literature, he was way to young for a book like that. "Maybe we should choose something else." But Hamish shook his head and pushed the book to his chest. The small hand reached over his head and into Sherlock's hair so he could twin the curls with his short fingers. It was a custom to them all by now. Ever since Hamish was three months old he liked to bury his hands in his fathers strands. "But look." He flipped the pages of the book and Hamish watched with big blue-green eyes. "There's no pictures. I don't think you will enjoy it." Yet again, Hamish pushed the book to his chest and gave him a sharp look which he had inherited from John, and Sherlock started to understand. Hamish didn't care about pictures or content of the book, he wanted to learn new words from him. This brought a proud smile to Sherlock's lips and he stroke his long fingers through his sons dark hair. "Alright." He remained on the floor, leaning back against the seat of the sofa and Hamish placed himself between his legs so he could see the pages as Sherlock read them. To his benefit, Sherlock traced the sentences with his finger so Hamish could follow every word and suddenly he grasped his finger and traced him back to a word. Above his fingernail was the word 'fallacy' and Hamish turned his head to give him a questioning look.

"Fallacy?" Sherlock asked him and Hamish kept staring. "It means mistake, or that something's wrong." And Hamish nodded, but Sherlock's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Could you read it or did you just guess?" He didn't expect a verbal answer from him, just a wink or a smile and that was exactly what he got. A mysterious smile and the boy turned back to the book, showing him that Sherlock needed to continue, so he did.

John returned to the laundry, keeping an eye on them both since this was an unusual sight. Hamish never turned to Sherlock for story reading. Probably since John liked to voice act when he read the story books. Maybe Hamish turned to Sherlock this time because he had grown tired on his squeaky voices and wanted to hear something different for once. But something was wrong in Sherlock voice, it was going husky and tired. A doctor could easily see the signs of an upcoming cold. With Hamish around it wasn't odd that John caught every cold and flu from him, but Sherlock was always able to elude it, lucky bastard. So, with the lack of proof, John decided not to dig into it any further.

The boy grabbed his finger again and traced it back to the word 'innocence'.

"Innocence." Sherlock repeated and circled the word. "It can mean that if something bad happens and it's not your fault, then you're innocent." Hamish nodded again and flipped the page for him. So Sherlock continued his reading, and thirty pages later Hamish didn't trace back to any more words for an explanation. Sherlock hadn't noticed when he fell asleep to his chest and a warm feeling appeared in his stomach when he looked down on the boy who was breathing deeply against him. "Hamish?" He hadn't just dozed off, he was in deep sleep and Sherlock envied him. He was probably just as tired as him.  
"He's asleep?" John asked returning from the kitchen, Sherlock hadn't even noticed him leaving the sitting room. He gave him a slight nod and felt the smell of chicken pot pie spreading in the flat. How many minutes had passed since he sat down on the floor? "Put him our bed. We can carry him upstairs later." It was hard to get up from the floor when his limbs was weak. Holding himself up was heavy enough, but he managed to get up with Hamish in his arms. He had grown big and was not even close to the baby they once brought home from the hospital, he looked so different now but to Sherlock he would never stop being that little baby that he had once cradled. He placed him on the bed and watched him squirming around on the bedspread to get comfortable. The skull sat on Sherlock bedside table and had been there since this night. Now and then, Hamish would walk down the stairs from his room, the skull tucked under his arms and quietly enter the room without waking them. The morning after John and Sherlock would wake up with Hamish between them and the skull on the bedside table, watching over them all. Just as Sherlock, Hamish had grown attached to the skull and saw him as a friend. But Hamish never wanted him in the bed with him, no, the skull had to be placed somewhere that it could have a good lookout over the room. There was one time when John had plucked it away and placed it back on the mantlepiece while Hamish was sleeping. He was two. The skull had been away from his room less than an hour when a loud shriek was heard from the upstairs bed room. Not a cry, just a loud shout of anger and Sherlock ran up the stairs to find his son standing in the bed, pointing to the bureau where the skull was supposed to be and giving him the death stare he'd learnt from his him. The skull had never left his side since then and Sherlock made sure John apologised for his rudeness. Sherlock tucked him in under the blanket and carefully lifted his head to place a pillow under it. The boy sighed and opened his eyes to look for the skull.

"He's right there." Sherlock whispered and stroke his hair while he pointed. "He's got a good lookout for you while you sleep." Hamish smiled and looked at his dad with misty eyes. "I'll read more for you tomorrow." He kissed the top of his head and Hamish tossed his arms around his neck. "Good night, handsome." But Hamish shook his head and pushed him back, he pointed to the armchair where his pyjamas laid folded on the seat and Sherlock pressed his lips together. He knew he's forgotten something. "Dad can be very ignorant sometimes, can't he?" Hamish nodded and mirrored his face to look just like him. He untucked him and unbuttoned his dark green cardigan. "Sit up." Hamish hoisted himself up and lifted his arms to the roof so Sherlock could pull the t-shirt of him. There was a birthmark on his right shoulder which Sherlock fancied. It had the form of a feather, but only if you squinted your eyes. John said leaf but Sherlock said feather and it got more alike it for every inch he grew. He dressed Hamish in his soft pyjamas and the boy helped him to button it. The small finger fumbled, not close to the motor that Hamish wanted and it annoyed him sometimes when his finger didn't obey him. But the boy noticed something, his fathers finger fumbled almost as much as his and he gave him a worried look that reminded Sherlock of John.

"Don't worry." Sherlock whispered and kissed his cheek. "I might come down with something. But we wont tell daddy, okay?" Hamish crocked his head, looking more and more like John as his eyebrows knitted together. "It's just the flu, love. Nothing to worry about, alright? Dad's fine." Some few seconds went by before Hamish finally nodded and laid back in the bed and Sherlock tucked him in again. "We're out in the kitchen, okay?" His big eyes fluttered and he snuggled into the pillow, quickly falling asleep again.

He returned to the kitchen and saw John uncorking the bottle of wine. Wine was a tradition for every saturday evening together with good food.

"He's asleep?" John asked and filled the two glasses. Sherlock stood in the doorway, trying to get the blood back to his hurting head, that someone seemed to have filled with sand, before he nodded.

"Yeah." he sighed and tried not to wobble as he walked over to the table. He fell down with a thud on the chair and even if his stomach growled for food, he wasn't really hungry. Something was clearly coming down on him.

"There are no peas in 'em this time." said John and sat down on the other side of the table. "I know you don't like 'em." He gave John a thankful smile and looked down on his pie. "You don't need to eat the whole thing just... try it at lest." Even if the pie didn't call for him, he wasn't going to let John's feelings down by leaving the food uneaten. So, he crushed the shell down in the soup underneath and ate spoonful, only to feel the nausea return to his stomach. But, Sherlock was an expert at looking past his body signals and swallowed the food.

"Too much rosemary." he said and John chuckled.

"I'm glad you like it." he said, he knew that this was as modest as his husband would get. Sherlock stirred the soup with his spoon and felt a drop of sweat tickle his temple, a fever had begun.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed. Leave a review please. For me :)**


	8. Being dramatic

**Sherlock gets the flu**

* * *

The phone rang early the morning to come and John flailed his arms over the floor to get it out of his charger. Sherlock turned on his side of the bed and groaned loudly as John started to talk to whoever was on the other side. The loud signal pained his head and the moving around hurt every limb, he was really going sick.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll be in in an hour." The weight shifted in the bed as John stepped out and Sherlock opened his eyes to see what he was up to. "It was the clinic. Someone called in sick so I need to cover for him." he explained and stepped out of his pyjamas to hit the shower. It was dark still and Sherlock made no effort to keep himself awake. He looked to his side and stole John's pillow to prop himself up a bit more, he shouldn't have done that. The sand in his head shifted and he fell back on the bed, pulling his hair. Somehow, he must have slumbered for a moment. Next time he opened his eyes John stood by the wardrobe, hair newly washed and stepping into his work clothes.

"John?" he breathed and felt the pain in his throat. The doctor crawled back in bed and wound his arms around him to say good bye.

"There are some left overs in the fridge, make sure Hamish eats properly, and so should you." Sherlock answered him with a tired hum and placed a heavy arm around John's waist. "And try not to tare down the house today." He hummed again and John kissed him. "And you should read some more to him today, the more he learns the sooner he will speak." He nodded and swallowed painfully. "I'll miss you." A cold hand stroke his cheek and he managed to give his husband a tired smile.

"Feelings are mutual." he whispered and squinted in the dark to look at him. John looked tired, it had been a late night for them both full of cuddling and pleasuring. "Do you have to go?" John chuckled and kissed him again.  
"Christmas coming up." he reminded him and hugged him tightly, every vain in his body pained but he didn't care. Because John was holding him. "See you at four." And he was off. Leaving Sherlock alone in the dark bedroom and he groaned loudly as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in. But then, there was a light knock on the door. A newly awake Hamish was standing in the frame, the skull under his arms and hair in every direction.

"Good morning." Sherlock greeted him and patted John's side of the bed. "Care to join me?" The boy hurried into the room and placed the skull on his place before jumping up in bed. He tucked himself in under the same cover as his father and Sherlock placed his arms around him. "Guess we have the whole day to our self. Daddy had to go to work." He buried his nose in his sons dark hair and took a deep breath, smelling the shampoo and skin cream that was a part of Hamish. "Let's just sleep a little more and then have some breakfast." Hamish nodded with his forehead against his chest and his small hand traced inside of Sherlock t-shirt sleeve for warmth. "Do you want me to read some more today?" He nodded and crawled a little closer to his chest. "Will do then. Go back to sleep now."

It felt like he's slept for less than a second when someone started to shake his shoulder. His lids were glued and he couldn't move under the cover, his body was to heavy and painful. He managed to open his eyes, but his sight was blurry. Eyes disobeyed him.

"Hamish?" he breathed, but fell into a fit of painful coughing. Lungs disobeyed him. Then he felt the weight of Hamish on his chest and the boy placed his ear against his ribs. Just like John did on him when he was sick, he was listening. "Hamish." he tried again and placed a heavy hand on his head, but his lungs were filled with something that felt like water. This was bad. "We should..." another pure fit of painful coughing and he turned his head to the side, he couldn't breath. His throat was useless and he started to panic when his body gave up on him. His body was useless. This must be what drowning felt like. Was he about to die in the presence of his son. What a cruel fate it would be for them both. But Hamish was smart. As soon as he heard the raspy breaths he got up of bed and ran to the pile of clothes Sherlock wore yesterday to pull out the phone. But he didn't give it to Sherlock. Instead, he succeeded to locate John's number since it was presented with a picture of him and he called him himself. The boy who hand't spoken a single word during his lifetime opened his mouth and...

"Dad's sick."

Sherlock heard him and did everything he could to get back into breathing. This wasn't how it was supposed to be the first time Hamish spoke. Sherlock opened his mouth big enough for his jaw to break and sucked the air around him. It finally came back to him and he felt the weight of Hamish on his chest again. He looked down and saw the tears streaming down his face, his small hands pinned to his shirt and his eyes was closed hard. Breathing was still difficult, and his head was about to explode in pure pain, but he didn't care about himself at the moment. Hamish was probably more scared than him right now.

"Hamish." he breathed heavily and wound his arms around him. "It's okay. I'll be alright." But his lungs were filled with water again and he couched loudly, every spasm tore through his throat, eventually making him gag. "Get off me for a moment." Muscles contracted around his stomach, forcing whatever was in him up his throat and Hamish crawled back into the bed. The detective needed the bathroom, quick before he threw up in the floor. But he only managed to sit up before the strength abandoned him. He hit the floor and landed in a pile of weak limbs. Was this the end?

* * *

John ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time and reached the flat.

"Sherlock!" he shouted and looked around in the sitting room and kitchen. "Hamish!?" He continued his search and reached the bedroom. There on the floor laid Sherlock on his back with Hamish on top of him. Clinging to him with everything he've got and tears falling down his face. This was something he never wanted to witness. "Oh god.." He stumbled across the room and landed beside them. He had to break Hamish away from the unconscious Sherlock. "It's okay, Hamish. Dad will be okay. I just have to take a look at him." Eventually Hamish released his grip of Sherlock's t-shirt and John pulled him into a hug while checking his husband's pulse, it was there, but weak. Hamish buried his face onto his shoulder and sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry Hamish, but I'll hold you in a moment. I have to take care of dad now, okay?" The boy was brave, he stepped over Sherlock and fell to his knees beside him to hold his big hand while John stroke his forehead. The man's brain was burning.

"Sherlock?" he said loudly and listened to his breathing that was squeaking in his chest. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" The detective looked very peaceful, like he'd just fallen asleep while standing, but he was paler than usual. John had never seen him this sick. "Sherlock?" Finally his eyes fluttered and he took a big shaky breath. "There you are." John said with a sigh of relief and stroke the hair out of his eyes. "What are you doing on the floor?" The detective started to tremble. Of cold of fear, John could not tell. "Can you hear me, love?" A cough left his throat, a raspy, thick cough followed by a loud groan and John cupped his face. "Can you focus on me, please? Come on Sherlock. Look at me." His glossy eyes locked on him and John gave him a calming smile. "Your fever is through the roof. We need to get it down. Okay?"

What John really wanted to do, was panicking. He wanted to scream and shout because he'd never seen his husband this ill. The moment he'd laid eyes on him on the floor he thought that he was just as damned as everyone else in his presence. People just seemed to have a way of dying if he ever got close to them. But he kept himself calm and brave, he didn't want to scare Hamish. So, he put a smile on his face and put on the roll of a doctor more than a worried husband.

"Up you go." he ordered and placed Sherlock's arm around his neck to hoist him up. Legs wobbled under him and Hamish took his part in the mission to get Sherlock the the shower by grabbing his trousers. His head hung as John dragged the weak detective to the bathroom. "Come on, move your leg." It was a heavy duty, Sherlock's body was failing him and every muscle in him was soft. He was barely conscious. "Come on love." They got closer to the door of the bathroom and Hamish ran to open it for them. "Hamish, could you get me some towels? We need to cool dad down with some cold water." The floor was still wet since John showered and he almost slipped on the tiles, but luckily he managed to stop the fall by grasping the counter. With the heart in his throat, he sat Sherlock down on the floor of the shower and fell to his knees beside him.

"Sherlock?" he tried again and saw how the detective tried to wake himself up by lifting his head. It was useless. "It might get a little cold now, but don't panic." A pile of towels dropped down beside him and he reached for the shower head to wet them down in lukewarm water. Hamish stood close to the curtain, just staring with teared eyes and John shot him a worried look. Why did mrs Hudson need to leave this weekend when they suddenly needed her the most? "Hamish? D'you wanna help?" He held out the wet towel and the boy gave him a questioning look. "We're making him better. Just hold it to his neck." It took some time, but Hamish wanted to help. He took the towel and stepped into the shower to help his father. The coldness from the water sent a shivering breath over Sherlock lips and his body twitched. His face bundled up into a painful grimace and he groaned as his head fell back to the wall. John wetted another towel and placed it on his thin arm. The detectives head tossed back and forward and Hamish reached out his hand to stroke his fathers curls. Then Sherlock started coughing again and John placed a hand behind his neck until the fit was over. The detectives eyes fluttered again and they finally focused on John.

"John?" he breathed heavily and the doctor stroke his thumb back and forth over his jaw. "You're home early." He was still burning and in need for more treatment of cold water, but John was relieved to have him back so quickly.

"How are you feeling." John asked with a smiled and saw him shaking. "You gave us quite a scare." Sherlock swallowed painfully and blinked. The world around him had gone into a wild blur of colours.

"Where's Hamish?" He felt someone pull his arm and he looked to his left. The small boy stood close to him, teared up but still wearing a smile on his face. "I'm so sorry love. I didn't mean to scare you." To his relief, Hamish fell into his chest. Hugging him with his short arms and sobbed quietly, his father's had never seen him like this. Of course he'd cried before, but never so painfully as now and Sherlock placed a heavy arm around him to comfort. It was impossible to keep his head up so it fell forward, forehead landing on the crown of Hamish's head and that's where he stayed, holding his boy half asleep and cold towels touching his skin.

"How are you feeling?" John asked again and stood up to get his medical kit from the cupboard. There was no answer from him and John deduced that he'd probably gone back to sleep again.

"Dad?" There was that voice again and the doctor turned quickly to look at his little family in the shower. "You need to tell daddy what's wrong so he can help you." The air disappeared out of the room and the world outside became unimportant comparing to this. Less than twenty minutes ago his phone had rung in the middle of an examination of a patient, and when he answered his heard the little voice. He never doubted it was Hamish, but the words he spoke wasn't what he wanted to hear. Tears burnt the back if his eyes and he bit down hard so he wouldn't cry.

Nothing in the bag was on it's place, probably Sherlock's doing from an old experiment with the gauze, but he eventually found the thermometer in the bottom.

"Sherlock?" he said and lifted his head. "Keep this under your tongue for a minute." When his hands were free again he pressed the cold towel to his body. "Guess you're not immune to the flue after all."

"You were never this bad during your flue." Sherlock moaned miserably and heard John chuckle.

"Well, you have a way of being a bit overdramatic now and then." he said and kissed his forehead, making Sherlock giggle with a sore throat. The thermometer beeped and John took a look. "Well aren't you a bad man? 39,9!? Lucky you we have such a brave boy in the house who could help you." He was looking at Hamish who was pressing his cheek against Sherlocks collarbone, tears still flowing but he was smiling now. "Let's get dad a little cooler, shall we?" Hamish nodded and sniffled before he grabbed the towel again. Pressing it to his fathers cheek while rubbing his fingers on his scalp, something they used to do to him when he was sick. Sherlock shivered violently and tried to pull away. The pain and cold was to much for him to control.

"Dad, you have to be still." said Hamish strictly and John couldn't help his tears anymore. Hamish was talking, and he was good at it. He quickly wiped his welling tears and leaned in to kiss his sons head. When he pulled back Hamish looked up at pierced him with his death stare. "Dad's sick. No time for kissing."

"Alright, alright." said John, fighting the urge to laugh and cry. It was hard. Hearing Hamish's voice for the first time was so overwhelming he just wanted to pull the boy into a hug. Carry him around for the rest of the day and hear him say all the words that the boy had in his mind. But Hamish was right, now was not the time.

Sherlock started to come back. Slowly, but he was getting there. He kept his eyes open, eyes locked on Hamish and when he finally had the energy to smile he smiled wide and proudly.

"You have a beautiful voice Hamish." he said and cupped the boy's face with his left hand. "Please let me hear it more often." Hamish pressed his lips hard together until the form a thin line and stared down on his feet. A knot tied itself in Sherlock's chest. Maybe he shouldn't have pointed it out.

"I will dad." he said suddenly and nodded, still looking at his feet. "I will."

No one could see the tears on his wet face, but John could hear the joyful sob leaving his throat as Sherlock pulled their son in for a big hug. The short arms found their way around his neck and hugged him back.

"That's my boy." Sherlock groaned into the dark hair and kissed his temple. "You have a beautiful voice for speaking. When you know how to read you'll be the one reading to me."

"Okay, don't stress him." said John with a smirk and pressed the cold towel to his forehead. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads." Sherlock lied and his head fell back to the wall again. John called his bluff.

"So you honestly think you could stand without falling over?" he asked and Sherlock sighed.

"Standing is boring." he said and John snorted.

"Yes, and so is breathing and and being conscious I presume? Shall we get you back to bed perhaps?" There was no need for an answer. Sherlock was barely awake anyways. But John checked his temperature a second time when Hamish suddenly ran out of the room. "Where are you going?" There was no reply and he lent forward to get a look out in the bedroom. "Hamish?" He heard the sound of a drawer being pulled out and slammed closed and two second later the boy was back with some folded clothes.

"Dad can't go to bed all wet." he said and placed the pile on the lid of the toilet. "He will get worse if he do that." This was a moment of pride for John. His son was intelligent as his dad and as caring as him. They'd done well raising him and now when the boy could express himself by talking he wasn't just a shadow in their home anymore. It was like he'd become real.

"You're quite right." he chuckled and saw how the temperature had dropped to an acceptable number. "Let's get dad out of these wet clothes."

It was quite a struggle to get a sleeping Sherlock out of his clothes, but both Hamish and John took their part. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, drying his upper body with a clean towel and the hardest part was the pants. John held Sherlock up as Hamish pulled and they were soon to be off. They dressed him in nothing more than a new shirt and underpants before John decided that he would carry him to the bed. Painful shoulder or not, Sherlock couldn't walk by himself. The boy followed him with quick stepped and jumped up in bed to get the cover out of the way. Hamish helped tucking him in and Sherlock started to come back again as soon as he felt the soft surroundings. Just looking around and carefully squirming himself into place.

"I'll get you some water." John informed him and left the room. Water was probably for the best, his throat needed to be chilled.

"Dad?" The sand in his head shifted again as he turned to see his son. The tears had stopped falling down his cheeks, but he had a serious face now, almost like he tried to warn him of something. "You need to tell daddy when you're sick. I can't take care of you by myself." That boy truly had a big vocabulary for his age. John was probably right. Hamish was probably to shy to speak before he could use the language properly and he had snapped up every word that had passed him. And today he had been forced to use his knowledge of words. Maybe he had realised that he wasn't so bad at it, or maybe he just loved to see how happy it made his parents.

"I know." he said hoarsely and stoke his hand over his sons cheek. "Come here." Hamish fell into his fathers arms and Sherlock held him as tight as he could. "You're such a brave little boy. You've got that after your daddy. I'm so sorry I scared you."

"I was worried, not scared." said Hamish and snuggled his face into his neck. "I'm never scared." The sweetest line from the sweetest boy, Sherlock thought and caressed his back with a smirk.

"I'm sorry I worried you then." he said and saw John walking into the bedroom again with a glass of a water.

"Make sure to drink some and take these." He sat down in the bedside and held the cold glass to his cheek. It was a wonderful feeling to his hot face and he saw the pills in John's hand. "It will dissolve the mucus in your lungs and throat. Making it easier to cough up."

"Always so informative, John. Well done." he groaned and let his husband drop the pills into his mouth. After that, the straw tickled his lip and he sucked the cold water to chase the tablets down his throat. "Hold it to my cheek again." John pressed the cold glass back on his skin and saw how Sherlock enjoyed the cool down.

"Try to sleep it off. I'll make Hamish some breakfast." The detective just nodded and John turned to the boy lying on his father's chest. "Let's not disturb dad anymore." he whispered and Hamish reached out his arms for John to pick him up. "What do you want for breakfast?" The boy kept his arms around his neck as they walked into the kitchen. "Cereal? Toast?" He was dying to hear Hamish voice again and he prayed that he wouldn't fall back into silence again. The biggest fear was that he would handle this wrong. He had no idea which words would encourage him and which would scare him.

"Eggs." said Hamish into the crock of his neck. "Boiled eggs with mayonnaise." The first meal was demanded and John couldn't be more proud. "And bacon." he added and John giggled.

"That's sound delicious." he said and put him down on the floor in the kitchen to attend to the breakfast. "Do you want coffee with that?" This question was asked every breakfast and was always followed by a laugh and a shake of the head from Hamish. But today was different.

"What do you think, daddy?" John hid his head in the fridge for a couple of second more, just having his own little fit of happiness. Eyes shut hard together, heart pumping violently behind his ribs, a scream of joy waiting in his throat which he released with a mute hiss behind clenched teeth.

"You're right." he said and got his head out from between cartons of milk and juice. "Silly me." Even if his husband had a close call this morning and now was unconscious in bed, Baker street felt healed.

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**Please, please, please tell me what you think! :D**


	9. Show and tell

**Hamish has questions.**

* * *

John sneaked into the bedroom an hour later to check on Sherlock. Still deeply buried under the cover, shivering and sweating. The thermometer was forced underneath Sherlock's tongue without him noticing and John sat down beside him again to stoke his hair.

"John?" said the weak voice and John hushed him gently, it wasn't his intention to wake him.

"Go back to sleep, I'm just doing a checkup." But Sherlock groaned angrily and just wanted him to leave. Sleep would heal him, and here John were, keeping him from it.

"I'm fine." he sighed and frowned when he saw the digits on the clock. "Oh gods.. I should get up." But John pushed him back in the bed as he tried to sit up and he landed on the soft pillow that almost smacked back into dreamland.

"Don't be silly. You're not going anywhere today." Sherlock groaned in anger again and John took back the thermometer. "38,7. You need to sleep this out. I'll make you some soup."

"No, no soup." he moaned and dropped his head to the side, neck glossy by cold sweat. Hair sticking to his forehead, throat sore, eyes burning and neck throbbing in pain.

"No arguments. You need something in you to fight this."A third groan left the detective and he pulled the cover up to his nose. "Don't be such a baby. I'm a doctor remember, I only want to help you."

"You're my husband." Sherlock corrected him and blinked tiredly. "I don't need a doctor."  
"Then listen to your husband." said John with a teasing smile and pressed his lips to his temple, tasting the salty sweat and heat. "I'll bring you soup, and you will eat it." His husband pouted and tried to look more miserable than he really was.

"Broth is just fine." he murmured. "Don't make me chew."

"Oh, now you're just lazy." John giggled and stroke his fingers through the damp curls.  
"Dad?" Just as last night, Hamish was standing in the doorway. Out of his pyjamas and dressed in his favourite t-shirt and soft cardigan. Something was in his hand and John came to the conclusion that the game of show and tell continued. "What's this?" It was a pile of coasters decorated with pictures of old maps of the world. Sherlock reached his hand out of the cover to sign him to come closer and the boy jumped up in bed and held up the objects.

"It's coasters." Sherlock groaned and swallowed painfully, not really up for this game today.

"Yes, I know. But what's on them?" Nothing in the world could beat the sweetness of Sherlock's smile in that moment as he changed is mind about playing. So many times those coasters had been shown to him and he had never understood that it wasn't just the coasters that interested Hamish. It was deeper than that. The other hand appeared from underneath the cover and he received the small little plates. Hamish crawled down under the cover beside him and placed his head on his shoulder, to listen to the vibrations of his fathers voice in his chest. It brought him some kind of safety.

"This is Russia." Sherlock began and held up the coaster, pointing at it with a trembling finger. "And here's their capital city, Moscow. And all this." His finger travelled over the darker parts of the map. "Is the mountain chain Siberia. It's really cold up there. They have to close down schools sometimes 'cause it's so freezing that if you spit, your saliva turns to ice before it hits the ground."

John tipped his head to the side and listened just as eagerly as little Hamish. Sherlock's voice could make anything sound interesting and amazing.

"Is that where the Siberian tiger comes from?" Hamish asked and sneaked his hand up Sherlock's hair to twin the curls.

"Yes it is." said Sherlock proudly and sniffled. "And they are white as the snow so they can camouflage as they scout on their prey." The coaster was pulled out of his hand, Hamish was done with that part of the world for now.

"Australia." said Sherlock and pointed at the red dot. "There's Sidney, they have a big famous opera house. It was on the telly last night, d'you remember." Hamish nodded. "They have spiders that bark like dogs you know." John chuckled and shook his head.  
"You're just making that up." he smiled but Sherlock looked at him, dead serious.

"It's true." he said as sharp as he could with his tired voice. "Well maybe not like dogs, but they shriek at night."

"Really?" John asked with a frown and Sherlock raised his left eyebrow as he nodded.

"Yes, really. If you're going to make wild accusations about me being a liar you might as well redraw to the kitchen and make me that soup." The smile on John's lips turned into a thin line and he sighed.  
"Fine." he groaned and leaned over him to catch a kiss.

"And no peas." Sherlock called after him as he left the room.

* * *

Small steppes was hear behind him and he just had the time to turn before Hamish jumped up in his arms and he stumbled backwards to the stove.

"Woah! Hamish! Not when I'm cooking!" But Hamish didn't care, just giving him a teeth showing smile and giggling. "What's with you?" The boy tossed his arms around John's neck and hugged him hard enough to strangle.

"Daddy." he said with lips pressed the his neck. "It's christmas in a week." He didn't need to say anymore to make his father understand that there was a question on it's way, and he put him down on the counter so he could accompany him while he cooked.

"Yes, and?" he teased with a smirk and continued to chop the carrots that was going into the broth. Hamish swayed his legs over the edge and reached for the jar of sugar to put his finger in, but John quickly put it away. "Not before lunch. And not after either. You can't just eat sugar like that." There was no protest from the Hamish, only a smile as he reached for the wooden spoon to stir the soup. He wanted to help.

"Can I wish for something?" John shot him a look and saw the twinkles in his eyes. This was the first christmas when he would really understood the concept of it.

"Of course." said John and put the vegetables in the pot. "Let's write a list for Santa after lunch." A banging sound started and John saw how Hamish kicked his heals to the cabinet. Making the pots and pans inside rattle.

He was a very helpful boy when it came to cooking, he was like John in that way. But when it came to cleaning he was just as sloppy as his dad. There were many times John needed to clean up after them both. Hamish wasn't the only child in the house sometimes. Todays mess was the jar of coffee beans that hit the floor with a bang when John wasn't looking. The beans rolled over the whole floor and Hamish pulled his hair when he realised what he'd done.

"I didn't mean to!" he exclaimed as John sighed loudly over the mess he'd made. "I was just..." The smell of coffee was probably his favourite, and he was just having a whiff in the jar when it slipped out of his hands. "I didn't mean to!"

"Oh Hamish." John groaned and bent down for the metal jar. "Well, you know where the broom is." He lifted him by the waist and put him down on the floor, sure of that Hamish would help him.

"No I don't!" said Hamish quickly and ran out of sight, leaving a shocked John in the kitchen in the middle of a mess.

"Hamish!" he shouted and ran after him. Barely keeping his balance with the beans under his shoes. "Come back here! I'm not cleaning this up after you!" Taking two steppes at the time up the stairs he reached Hamish's room. The door was weakly bolted with the desk chair that easily slid away when John pushed it open. But he found the messy room empty. Where was he hiding? "Hamish?" He searched behind the door, under the desk and then he fell to his knees to search underneath the bed when the door of the wardrobe flew open and Hamish tossed himself on top of him. Laughing loudly he wound his arms around his neck and John sat up with him clinging on his back. "Hamish? What are you doing?" he asked giggling and grabbed him by his wrists that pressed to his adam's apple.

"I want to play." he explained and John groaned loudly.

"Not until you've cleaned up the mess in the kitchen." he answered and stood up, Hamish still clinging to his back. "You're not leaving it like that. And I am not cleaning it up." He walked out of the room and heard Hamish pout behind him.  
"But I don't know where the broom is." he whined and pushed his forehead to his shoulder. "I don't want to." Hamish first day talking, and he was already talking back.

"Neither do I!" said John and hurried down the stairs. "Let's do it together." This time, Hamish just nodded but he still pouted. Then there was a sudden loud thud in the kitchen and next a loud groan. "Sherlock!?" He pealed Hamish off his shoulders and put him on the floor and ran through the flat. For the second time today he found Sherlock on the floor. Swaddled in the sheet and surrounded by black coffee beans on the kitchen floor.

"What the hell is this!?" he groaned and tried not to move. Every bean under him pained and poked his back. "Why are there beans everywhere!?"

"You shouldn't be up!" John shouted and ran over to help him on his feet. "Did you slip?"

"Of course I slipped!" answered Sherlock angrily and sat up with his help and cursed. "I knew it was just a matter of time!"

"For what?" asked John and placed his hands under his arms to pull him up.  
"Hamish's always smelling those bloody beans, I knew he would dropped them eventually! Hamish!?" There was a scared Hamish in the doorway, hiding half his body behind the slide door and biting his nails. "Clean this up!" The fury growled inside him and John needed to calm him before it exploded over the little boy.

"Okay, Sherlock. Let's get you back to bed." Another growl torn through him as the beans pressed to his soles.

"Now Hamish." he said and returned to his room without the tea that he'd been craving. He left the kitchen, muttering as he walked through the hall and John turned to little Hamish behind the door.

"Dad!" he called suddenly and ran after him. Swiftly avoiding every bean on the floor to get to him as quick as possible, and Sherlock turned to him before entering the bedroom. The sheet around his shoulders wound a little tighter as he looked down on his son. Hamish bowed his head and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. It was a fallacy. I wish I could tell you I'm innocent." It was just as easy as blowing out the candles on a birthday cake to get rid of Sherlock's anger in that moment. His lips curled into a smile and he placed a heavy hand on Hamish's head and sighed. "I will clean it up now. I promise."

"Apology accepted." he smirked and stroke his cheek to tilt his head up. Their eyes met and wore the same colours in this lighting, green and grey. "And you can continue to smell the coffee if you want to. Just make sure you don't drop them again." He turned to get back to bed when he heard the small footsteps follow him.  
"Do you have a favourite smell?" the little voice asked as he fell back amongst the sheets and pillows. The fever tried to keep him from answering his sons questions but his mind told him otherwise. He wanted to play this game. Neck throbbed in pain as he rolled over to his back and met Hamish's eyes. It was easy to tell that Hamish had many questions on his mind. Questions he'd been to scared to ask before, but today they all needed out.

He thought hard about the first question. There were many smells he enjoyed. John's shampoo and after shave, gasoline, the pages of a new book. But in the end there was one scent he really loved.

"Wet asphalt." he said and pulled the cover up to his nose, seeing Hamish frown.

"Wet asphalt?" he repeated and climbed up to lay down beside him. "What does it smell like?"

"You've smelled it." Sherlock murmured and saw how his son crawled down in bed beside him. "But the smell is stronger during the summer. The rain falls and leaving the streets wet. Then the sun breaks out of the clouds and vaporises the water. That's when you can smell it." Hamish closed his eyes and tried to think back six months.

"I can't remember." he said and looked up at Sherlock. A small ounce of disappointment trapped in his eyes.

"Of course you do." said Sherlock with a groan and lifted his arm so Hamish could crawl a little closer. "Just think. We were on our way home from the yard and it rained from the moments we sat down in the cab. But it stopped quickly and when we came home the sun was shining, d'you remember that?" It took some few seconds, but Hamish nodded. "The whole street smelled like wet asphalt that day. You must remember." Sherlock could almost hear Hamish's brain work, but not as much as he could see it. A little wrinkle between his eyebrows, chewing his bottom lip, eyes focused on the crack in the roof.

"No." he sighed with a sad voice. "I can't."

"Well. Maybe you were to young." said Sherlock with a yawn and Hamish titled his head to get a better look at him.

"Do you love daddy?" Sherlock opened his eyes and squinted at him.

"Of course I do." he answered and felt his inside turn. What in the world could make him ask a question like that?

"Whenever daddy says he loves you, you just say 'feelings are mutual'. What does that mean?" So that's where the problem was founded for him. Sherlock smiled.

"It means I feel the same thing for him."

"Oh." said Hamish simply and he seemed to be relieved by his answer. "Good. Do you love me to?"

"More than anything." his father said with a smile and pressed soft lips to his temple. "I tell you every day. Don't I?" Hamish nodded shyly and nibbled his nails. "And don't bite. It's leaves you with very unattractive hands."

"What does that mean?" His father gave him a dark chuckle and closed his eyes again.

"It means that if you bite, you'll have ugly fingers." Hamish wrinkled his nose and took a good look at his fingers. Squeezing them a couple of times until the blood coloured his fingertips.

"There's nothing wrong with my hands." he said suddenly and they returned to his lips. "You're just being silly, dad."

John peaked through the crack of the door and saw and heard his two little darlings communicate on a level he didn't have the heart to interrupt. Hearing little Hamish asking his intelligent father such questions made his face split in half by the great smile. Sherlock answers were magnificent. If John had asked those exact questions he'd would be declared an idiot. This was the first time John had heard Sherlock talk to a child that talked back. He never knew Sherlock would be this good at raising their son. He couldn't send Hamish to do his chores in this moment.

John was the one to clean up the coffee beans that day.

* * *

**Please leave a review. I would be so happy! **


	10. The Seiler

**John's bonding with a talkative Hamish.**

* * *

By the afternoon, time seemed to be slowing down. Maybe it was because John had woken up so early or maybe because Sherlock wasn't around to make it fly. It was terribly dark outside. The winter weather had left its marks on the windows. Frost and thick layers of snow and Hamish was standing by the glass, observing and investigating. Using his breath to fog the window and pressing his palm against it, he saw the frost melt and then freeze again. John looked up from his laptop and watched him for a moment. Hamish had been standing there for many minutes now. Not saying a word, nor asking questions.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked and sipped from his steaming tea. Hamish pressed his fingertips to the glass and backed up slowly. Like he was trying to see his experiment on a distance to give himself another perspective.  
"Can it get just as cold here as in Russia?" he asked and lowered his hand to take a look at his wet fingertips.

"Not really. It would take a dramatic climate change for that to happen." John answered him and got up from his armchair to join him. "You wanna go outside for a walk? We've been inside all day. Some fresh air would do us some good." Two eager eyes looked up at him and soon a broad smile curled his thin lips.

"Can we go to the music store?" he asked and grasped his hand with icy fingers. With that face in front of him, John couldn't say no.

"Go put on your overall." The boy ran quickly through the room and out in the hallway. "I'll tell dad we're going out and then I'll help you with your shoes, okay?"

Sherlock was sleeping as tightly as he was swaddled. He hadn't moved since the accident with the beans and probably didn't plan to do it either for the rest of the week. He placed a hand on his forehead and felt the heat. Sherlock moaned and shifted in bed.

"Your hand is cold."

"I wish I could say the same about your forehead." said John and took his pulse. "Think you can handle yourself for an hour. Hamish and I were planning to take a walk."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock groaned, making it sound like a curse for waking him. "Let me sleep." John lowered his head and kissed his unshaved chin. Just reassuring him that he was still caring even if he left for the hour.

"Love you." he whispered and raised from the bed when he heard his husband groan in response. The carpet felt wet under his feet and he deduced that Sherlock had knocked over the glass of water on the floor in his sleep. With a grunt, he decided to let it dry on its own when he heard Sherlock mumble under the cover.

"I love you too."

It came like a shock rather than a surprise, and he was about to answer him 'thank you' but he stopped his tongue in time. He closed his mouth and was to nervous to turn. Sherlock would be able to read everything in his face if he saw him. But from the sitting room came the words of salvation from this awkwardness.

"Daddy?" He grabbed his keys on the way out and left the elephant in the room. Sherlock hadn't said those words for... how many years? Hamish stood in the hallway with the shoes on his feet and the laces all around him, probably two inches to long.  
"Where's your hat?" John asked him and fell to his knees to tie them for him. The only answer he got was Hamish pulling the thick hood of his overall over his head. "That's not enough." The boy gave him a grunt and pulled the hat out of his pocket. It was given to him by 'granny'. John would never get used to calling Mrs Hudson that. The knitted hat was pulled over his dark hair and down over his ears. "Good." John praised him and gave him a teasing grin as he pulled the hood over his head as well. "Now you look like a antarctica-explorer."

After putting his own jacket on, Hamish was just as strict to make sure that he dressed just a properly as him. Hat, scarf and mittens was very important and he agreed when Hamish told him about how bad Sherlock was at this as they walked down the stairs.

"Yes, I know Hamish. Dad really needs to wear a hat. Maybe you should ask granny to make one for him too." The chilly weather hit them as he opened the door and Hamish grasped his hand and walked after him into the falling snow. He let his head fall back and John watched as Hamish tried to catch the snowflakes with his tongue. "So, the music store then?" The boy nodded and let his father lead him wile he stared at the sky. This was the first time he had decided where to go. During earlier walks they just walked. No destination accept tesco or the pharmacy. They had passed the music store many times but Hamish had never as much as pulled his hand when they'd passed it. John wished Sherlock could be here to see this happen.

"So, what are we going to do at the music store?" he asked his son as they saw the sign blinking close by in the falling snow that Hamish had giving up on catching. He looked up at John with big eyes and blinked the away the melted snow from his eyelashes.

"Just have a look." he told him and stopped outside the door. Just staring trough the window. John reached out for the handle when the grip around his hand tightened. He couldn't see Hamish's face so he pulled back his hood. Never in Hamish's short life had he looked so worried. He stared at the door like he'd seen a ghost and John crouched beside him to get into his eye level.

"What's wrong?" he asked carefully and placed his hand on his back. Hamish swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak but he closed it again. Turned to his father and took a deep breath through his nose.

"This isn't what me normally do." he whispered. There was no fear in his voice. Only a deep anger like he had disappointed himself by not entering the store at once. This was his first time deciding something and it was to overwhelming for him. Right now he wished that they'd just passed the store and moved on to Tesco. He wished that they didn't brake their normal routine. This changing didn't work well with his head.

"No, but it's funnier. Isn't it?" John asked him, giving him a calming smile and Hamish nodded. The little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows and he started to nibble his bottom lip. "You don't need to talk while we're in there if you don't want to." John continued and cupped his face, trying to warm up his blushing, but cold cheeks. Still biting his lip, he nodded as he determined that he **was **going into that shop. "You ready?"

A bell announced them as they entered the little shop and they were welcomed by a nice warm wind from the fan. Second hand guitars and violins hanged from the roof, leaving John with a very clouded vision as he tried to look around. The lights were dimmed, leaving the room in a slight golden tone that brightened the varnished wood of the many instruments and Hamish's eyes grew as he looked around, gaping to this new experience.

"Something special you wanna look at?" John asked him and saw how his eyes were locked on a great, black Seiler piano on the other side of the room crowded with instruments. "Come on." He pulled him by the hand closer to the majestic piece when Hamish came to a sudden stop. Just staring at his own reflection on the black paint that didn't have a single fingerprint. This was the first time Hamish saw a piano so close. "D'you wanna try it?" He shook his head quickly enough for his hat to crawl up over his ears. "Why not?"

The lid came up and showed the black and white keys and Hamish's mouth fell open when he saw them. Quickly forgetting the fear and giving up the the urge to 'taint' the the clean piano with his little fingers. Suddenly he was picked up from the floor and John put him on his lap as he fell down on the stool.

"I might not be as musical as your dad but..." He pressed down on three of the keys. The chord sang out in the room and he saw how his son observed his hand. "This is a C." He moved and pressed down again. "And that's an A. Try it." He took Hamish's hand and pressed his thumb down on the first key and realised that his hand was to small to reach the others. Get again he got disappointed at his motor. "Use your other hand too." The mittens hardly fit in the small pockets on his overall when he removed his from his other hand. He looked just as eager now as under show and tell at home. The chord sang in the shop again and a big smile appeared on his lips. Like he couldn't believe he'd done it by himself. He tried the other chord and a little laugh slipped over his lips.

"Look at that." John giggled and pulled the hat off his head. Dark brown hair popped up right under his nose and he got a whiff of his shampoo. "You did it. Want me to show you some more?"

They sat there for what seemed like hours, just played some simple notes. Just trying it out until Hamish felt pleased and happy with the results of his experiment, and frankly a bit tired. Not that he would ever admit that to John but his father could easily read him. He caught him in his embrace when he fell back against his chest. Glowing with pride of the fact that he'd overcome his fear twice today, and in John's eyes, he truly was a brave boy.

"You done?" Hamish nodded. "Wanna go home?" He nodded again.

* * *

He held him in his arms all way home, didn't care if his left shoulder ached. Today he wanted to keep Hamish as close to him as possible. He wanted to hear every little question, every little word that left his lips. And Hamish knew many words. Every time he opened his mouth, sentences just rolled over his tongue and he pointed with his mittens on everything he wanted to know something more of. Signs, posters, flyers, cars, shops. He needed to know everything about the neighbourhood.

But John noticed shortly that every time they passed someone, he silenced quickly. Just waiting for the stranger to be out of earshot before he continued.

A cab drove in by the curb and John would always recognise the silhouette of the woman in the backseat. The woman who would make London fall if she left, and today it almost had if little Hamish hadn't saved the day. It felt good to have the old woman back around these streets.

"Mrs Hudson!" he greeted her with a big smile and she giggled as she stepped out.

"It's not every day two little Holmes's meet me by the car. Hello!" She pinched Hamish's cheek and bundled up her face into a ridiculously playful face. "You look freezing, booth of you. Let's get you in for a nice cuppa!"

"Oh we would love to Mrs Hudson." he stated and followed her up the short stairs and into the warm corridor. "But we have to decline." Hamish squirmed out of his grip and slid down on the floor where he started to pull in his overall get free. "But, I have a Sherlock in flu." His landlady twitched when she heard the words and her hand flew up to play nervously with the neckless.

"Oh my goodness. Is he ill" Even she knew that he rarely went under the weather and that when he did it was bad. Hamish started to pull in John's arm to get him up the stairs, possibly eager to tell his other father about his discovery and John could understand him. But after all, mrs Hudson was a very good talker.

"Yes, sadly." John answered her and stood put in his shoes while his son kept pulling his arm. "It was a little panicky this morning, but it's better now. Yes, Hamish. We are going."

"I can always make tea upstairs. If you need any help" Mrs Hudson continued and pointed with her slender finger to the stairs and John sighed with a smile. Some tea would do him some good right now.

"Of course." he said and yielded to the tugging in his sleeve. He almost stumbled over the first step as Hamish suddenly let go and ran up the rest himself. John was only a second behind him but as he reached the hallway, he found all Hamish's outdoor clothes on the floor, like he'd just blown up into smoke. That boy was in a real hurry to get to his dad. While taking off his shoes and neatly placing them on the shoe rack, he heard the boy come running through the flat. He appeared in the door with the heart in his throat and he opened his mouth to speak when he suddenly choked. His blue-green eyes locked on the woman coming up the stairs and John started to understand. Hamish wasn't ready for mrs Hudson just yet.

"What is it?" he asked him calmly and reach out his hand for Hamish to grab it. "Show me."

The boy looked relieved by those words and grabbed his hand as hard as he could to pull him with him. As soon as they reached the corridor to the bedroom, and Mrs Hudson was out of earshot, he opened his mouth again.

"Dad's acting weird." he said and pushed the door open. On the bed laid a very disturbed Sherlock. Possible nightmares taring through his great mind and he tossed his head from side to side as he clawed the sheets. The cover had been thrown off him and his clothes was soaked by sweat, outlining every muscle on his chest as he was breathing heavily.

"Hamish, get him some water and I'll try to wake him up." John said with the calmest voice he could find as he sank to his sons eye level, showing him that this was nothing to be scared of. "Dad's fine. It's just nightmares." Hamish gave him a quick nod and ran to the kitchen while John turned to the bed. "Sherlock?" The temperature was up again, his whole body produced heat and he was trembling, face bundled up like he was in pain. "Sherlock?" he tried again and took his pulse. Every breath that leaved him came out in painful sobs through clenched teeth and John cupped his face. "Come on, love. Don't do this. It's just a fever." Dramatic, it was the perfect word to describe Sherlock when he was sick, and this time was no different. John muttered to himself and walked over to the window to let the cold winter weather cool down the room and Sherlock twitched as the cold air caressed his skin. A loud moan left him and John sat down beside him to stoke his damp hair. His breathing started to ease, still trembling but decreasing.

"Sherlock?" he tried again and saw his arm move. The slender fingers wound around his wrist and held it weakly. "Are you with me?" His eyes fluttered and finally came open to lock themselves on John who smiled. "Hello. What do you think you're up to? Taking a turn for the worse?" Sherlock, still breathing heavily, blinked a couple of times and tried to shake of the fears from the dream.

"There... there was a..." he stuttered and swallowed the rest of his words. "I was dreaming?" He wasn't sure of himself anymore. His mind wasn't clear enough to deduce what had happened around him.

"Yes, it was a nightmare." John explained and reached for the thermometer on the side table when Hamish showed up beside him with the glass of water in his hands. He thanked him and Hamish put it aside to crawl up in bed beside his father. John checked his fever and sighed when he saw the numbers. "You're up again. I'll get something to get it down."

Hamish stayed by his side while John fetched the medical bag in the bathroom and Sherlock's eyes roamed the room, trapped with a bottomless fear.

"Dad?" Hamish whispered and took his hand, stroke his forehead to wipe the cold sweat away. "Look." He pointed to the bureau by the window and made sure that he was really looking. The skull was placed by the cactus and Sherlock shot it a quick look before his head fell back on the pillow. Letting go of a deep breath and feeling some sort of calmness surround him, making him relax. The skull suddenly had the the same soothing affect as it had thirty years ago. "He's got a good look out. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's close." The exact same words that Sherlock used to tell him and he flinched as they reached his ear. He never knew why he told Hamish that lie when he never believed it himself as a child. But the skull had always been a friend and therefore he brought a feeling of being safe by just being around.

Sherlock reached out, pulled his son down by the neck and Hamish landed on his heaving chest. Sherlock tangled him in his arms and hugged the breath out of them both as the nightmare started to show itself again. Suddenly, he remembered every horrible act that had been played in his head.

"Stay with me for a while, will you?" he breathed and buried his nose in his hair. The strands tickled his face when Hamish nodded. "Good."

"Here we go." said John as he stepped out from the bathroom. "Let's get you better." He sneaked his arm around his thin shoulders and hoisted him up in the bed. Hamish was still in his arms, listening to his fast beating heart as he swallowed the pills with the cold water. "Have Hamish told you what we did while we were out?" John continued to gradually get Sherlock back into reality from his feverish state. The detective fell back with a loud groan and shook his head.

"Tell me Hamish. What kind of adventure did your daddy take you on?" The boys face lit up, just as it did back at the store and John giggled happily.

"We went to the music store." he explained and turned his head to look at his sick father who opened his eyes again. "I played the piano."

"Did you now?" Sherlock grinned tiredly and swept his fingers through his hair. "Any good?"

"Very good." said John and saw how a shiver run through his husbands body.

"It was fantastic. You should have heard it dad. The sound of it was beautiful." A smile twitched the corners of Sherlock mouth but he was to tired to keep it there. "Daddy says I've got an ear for music. Just like you." A terrible cough tore through Sherlock throat and his body twitched painfully. Luckily, it wasn't even close to the fit he'd had this morning.

"You okay?" John asked and offered him some more water which he gladly accepted.

"Of course." he sighed and cleared his sore throat. "So, the piano you say? Did you try anything else?" Hamish shook his head and sneaked his little hand into his curls. "Well, as soon as I'm out of this damned bed I'm taking you there again. You need to show me what your daddy showed you."

"I'm gonna write to Santa that I wish for a piano." Hamish told them both and Sherlock groaned with pursed lips. His son lifted his head and looked at him with sharp eyes. "You don't believe in Santa?"

"How can I? How can he visit every house in the world during twenty-four hours. It's impossible." Imagination was ruined, and John sighed angrily as he lowered his gaze.

"Sherlock." he murmured but Hamish stopped him before he could say anything.  
"It's magic, dad. Just because you can't do something doesn't mean Santa can't." And with those words, John bursted into laughter.

* * *

**Thank you so much for earlier reviews! Really! **

**Keep 'em coming! **


	11. Chocolate fudge and paracetamol

**Whatever bug Sherlock got, Hamish caught the same. **

* * *

"So, a piano then?" Sherlock breathed close to John's neck as he snuggled close to steal his body heat. John, who was almost asleep, twitched and sank deeper into his soft pillow, took a deep breath of the detergent that brought back many memories about this room.

"What?" he groaned and squirmed around in his arms to find a more comfortable dip in the bed.

"Hamish's christmas present. A piano then?"

"What?" John asked again, to drowsy to understand and Sherlock growled at his unintelligence.

"Try to keep up, will you." John drew a shallow breath and cracked his eyes open. Staring into the darkness he tried do understand his husbanda words. "We're getting Hamish a piano." Mouth was dry and he tied to swirl his tongue around to be able to answer his husband who so eagerly snuggled closer to his neck.

"He's only tried it once. Let's not hurry this. Today it's the piano, tomorrow it's..." Imagination failed him this time of night and he gave up with a deep groan. "I don't know. Something else." But Sherlock smirked and felt a shiver travel down his spine, causing him to twitch. John sensed it and turned to press his chest against his and fold his arms around him. "You alright?"  
"Oh forget about me." Sherlock moaned but welcomed his loving touch dearly. "We need to get Hamish a piano for christmas." Then they heard the familiar cracks and sneaking feet in the flat and John whispered to his husband to be quiet. They listened carefully as it came closer and closer, and soon the door swung open.

"And what might you want?" John asked the little boy standing on the doorstep without turning his head to look at him.

"I can't sleep." Hamish whispered and John looked over Sherlock shoulder to get a look of the time. Half past eleven, this was earlier than other nights.

"You mean you haven't slept at all, or did you wake up and couldn't go back?" he asked and untwined his arms around a whining Sherlock who missed the warmth of him once skin left skin.

"I woke up." Hamish explained and rubbed his eyes with the heals of his hands. John sat up and turned on the light, and saw the smeared tears across Hamish's face. A knot was quickly tied in his abdomen, it was unusual for Hamish to cry and the few times he did it was nearly heartbreaking to see him.

"What's wrong?" The question made Sherlock lift his head and look at his distressed son who broke into new tears and hid his face in his hands. "Hamish?" John tossed himself out of bed, pulled a t-shirt over his head and picked him up to hold him, cradled his head as he sobbed to his shoulder. "Hey? What happened? Was it a nightmare?" The small little hands found their way into his ashy blonde hair and tugged it lightly by the roots as he rocked him in his arms. Pressing his forehead closer to John's shoulder, Hamish shook his head and sniffled. "D'you wanna tell me?" He shook his head again and started hiccuping by the crying that forced its way up his throat. "Come on." As he turned to the bed, he saw Sherlock's worried face, half covered by the sheets. "Does it hurt anywhere?" He slid back under the cover with Hamish still glued to him and leaned to the bed frame.

"Hamish?" Sherlock whispered and reached out to touch his arm, hoping it gave him some sort of comfort. "Tell us what's wrong."

Hamish swallowed hard and the crying eased long enough for him to breath. With the nose buried to John's neck, he took a couple of deep breaths before he let go of his hair. His hands fell down to his father's shoulders and he lifted his heavy head to stare into the light of the lamp.

"It's... it's just been a weird day." he whispered and his eyelids fell, jaw dropped, leaving him with a tired expression and John wiped away the tears with his thumb.

"Indeed it has." he answered him calmly and pulled the cover over his shoulders, rubbed him to soothe his fears. "But it ended good, didn't it?" With a soft groan he nodded and pinned himself to John's t-shirt, planning to never let go. Tears was still flowing down his blushing cheeks and John placed a hand on his forehead, believing he'd found the problem of it all.

"Oh, Hamish. You're a bit warm." Sherlock shot up in bed with those words and forgot everything about the pain that was haunting his body. Sheets and blankets fell down his chest and he moved as close as he could to them both. With just one look, he could tell that Hamish wasn't himself. He could see the symptoms, because he had gone through it and he did not want Hamish to do the same. Without noticing, he circled his hand around his sons wrist and felt his heart beat quickly.

"Do you feel dizzy? Weak?" John shot him a sharp look, silently warning him from being to much of a detective and shook his head. This what not the time for deductions and conclusions and Sherlock closed his mouth. Instead of keeping the tip of his fingers to his wrist, he sneaked his them in to Hamish's weak grip of the t-shirt and took his little hand.

"Let's get you some water and some paracetamol." said John and swaddled them both in a big blanket. "You too Sherlock. We need to keep that fever down." The playful tone in his voice was hateful and Sherlock groaned as he got out of bed to follow him. But first he took all the blankets he could fins and wound himself tightly before leaving the room. The flat was cold this time of night, his own fault since the AC had a timer. According to his studies, he slept and thought better when the air was cooler after dark. He followed his husband into the kitchen and saw how he started to search amongst boxes of medicine, Hamish still pinned to his chest.

"Well, let's see. Aha!" Sherlock looked over his shoulder and observed. He needed to learn how John took care of the boy in these situations incase he had to do it by himself some day. He needed to master the ways of talking care of little Hamish, he couldn't afford to be bad at this. "I'm afraid you'll have to take to medications today." Hamish winced by his words and sulked agains his chest. "First you'll have to take this." He showed his the little pill between his fingertips and the boy pursed his lips. "And then this." John continued and held up the two pieces of the fudge that mrs Hudson had made them as a friendly gesture and Hamish mood switched quickly. "Think you can manage that?" He nodded and John put him down on the counter amongst beakers, pots and papers, it didn't take long before he started to shiver again.

Sherlock hated to see him like this, to see the sickness tare through him and he pulled one of the blankets off his shoulders to place it around him. Just by placing a hand on his back, he could feel his whole little body trembling in and he wanted, no, needed to help. Pulling him into his embrace he hugged him tightly and tried to transfer as much body heat as possible to him. Just like Hamish did when he was a baby, he pressed his cheek to his chest and pinned himself to the blanket around his shoulders, leaving Sherlock with a quick beating heart as memories flew through his mind.

"I'm sorry." The boy lifted his head and stared at him with exhausted eyes, filled to the brim with tears that glittered in his lashes.

"About what?" he asked hoarsely and Sherlock played with the strands overlapping his forehead, damp by sweat.

"For giving you whatever I've got." he answered with shame in his voice. He didn't want to see Hamish sick, he never wanted that.

John fuzzed around them, trying to keep up the mood with small jokes and teasing them, and he succeeded to get a laugh or two from Hamish even if he was feeding them pills. They chased them down with cold water and pieces of chocolate fudge and soon neither of them could keep their eyes open. John swept his arms around them both, hugging them tightly and kissing their burning cheeks. It wasn't very often he got to hold both his boys at once. After all, Sherlock had never really been a man longing for human touch accept when he was shivering by cold. It was rare to see Sherlock so lovingly caring for Hamish and his wellbeing. Possibly the fevers doing, but of course he would care when their little boy was sick, only John didn't expect it to be this intimate.

Sherlock's head fell to his shoulder and a short, painful grunt slipped over his parted lips. Between them, little Hamish was pressed against both of their chest, enjoying the warmth of both their bodies as he was about ti fell asleep while listening to Sherlock's heartbeats.

"Daddy." he whimpered and John stroke his hand through his hair. "My head feels heavy."

"I know love." John whispered and saw how Sherlock was about to drop him. Arms was to weak and John took him before he hit the floor with a bang. "Let's get you two back in the bed and rest that head on a pillow. Come on Sherlock." The man groaned and lifted his head only to feel dizzy again. Eyes tried to focus on the only thing in the room that seemed familiar, John, whom placed a firm hand on his shoulder blade, giving him that smile that always sent a calming feeling through his body. He would follow that man anywhere, and this time as many other night, straight back into bed. The warming covers and sheets had never been this welcoming as he fell into them. "And in you go." he heard John say as the bed dipped. As he opened his eyes again he saw only the dark hair on Hamish's head and he took a whiff of the minty shampoo. "You two will probably end up on the naughty list because of this." John snickered and crawled down beside Hamish, wrapping them all up in the big cover and moving as close as he could to his son and husband. "Making me take care of you both so close to christmas. Do you realise what I'll have to do now when you're not healthy enough to help? All the shopping, wrapping, cooking."

"Oh shut up, John." grunted Sherlock and swept his arms around the little boy to get him to stop shivering. John just smirked and took a last look at them both before turning off the lights.

"How are you feeling Hamish?" he asked and placed a hand on his chest, feeling his elevated pulse and uneven breaths.  
"My head hurts." he whined and made a lousy try to blink away the fresh tears that was soon to fall down his face, and then there was a cry in panic. He pulled his arms free from under the duvet and stared at his hands as he screamed.

"My fingers are gonna fall off!" he shriek with a voice so far from his own, so full of fear and panic both Sherlock and John was wide awake again.

By the looks of it, there was nothing wrong with his fingers. Just normal, chubby hands with short fingers with nibbled nails. Not a mark, no discolouration, no wounds or scrapes. "Daddy! Do something!"

John had never heard something like it. For the first time in years his knowledge in medicine didn't help him. He searched every corner of his head to find some solution to this problem as he turned on the light again, only to see Hamish's panicked stare and shaking hands. Fever was stubbornly steady, but not to high to cause him to hallucinate. This was something else, and John had no idea what.

"It's okay." Sherlock suddenly whispered without opening his tired eyes and he lifted his arm, grabbed both his hands and placed them back on the cover. He stroke his big thumb back and forth over his fingers and squeezed his hands while John watched them in surprise. "Don't worry." Crying started to ease but he winced when he tried to wiggle them. He bundled his face up into a painful grimace and groaned in agony as the weird feeling got worser and more real by the second. "Keep them still. Don't move them." The wiggling stopped and Sherlock kept up the light massage while Hamish sobbed in silence and John wiped his tears with the cover. "They're not gonna fall off, it just feels like it."

"How can you know?" Hamish asked him with a shaky voice that made John's heart ache and he started to stroke his hair again, seeing his face relax as he did so. His mouth fell open and a sigh slipped over his lips.

"I just know." Sherlock answered him hoarsely and sighed just as loud as him. "Sleep."

And he did. In less than two seconds Hamish drifted away between them and as he did, the weird feeling in his fingers came to an end. With a little snore he rolled over to his side and snuggled himself close to Sherlock's chest and Sherlock welcomed him by wounding his arms around his little body.  
The flabbergasted John couldn't believe what just happened before him. He'd never seen Sherlock comfort Hamish so amazingly before. Usually when Hamish felt scared or sad, Sherlock'd just call for John and push a crying boy into his arms.

"How did you know?" John asked him and reached for the lamp. Darkness fell over them but John didn't need to see to find Sherlock's hand on their son's back. He entwined their fingers and kissed the knuckles, still smelling fudge on him. But Sherlock was already asleep and unable to answer his question. The black curls was still damp by sweat but John kept playing with them, Sherlock loved when he did that.

And then he laid in the dark. Keeping himself awake just a bit longer to watch over them both, listening to their calm breathing and little whimpers and he couldn't help the smile twitching the corner of his mouth. In five days time it would be christmas. Probably the most odd christmas ever celebrated on Baker Street. The excitement made him feel just as old as Hamish. This christmas he would be able to tell them about the thought and feelings about the gifts when he opened them. Last year had been celebrated in silence. The only thing Hamish had given them was small smiles and laughs. This year would be different.

Then John slept.

* * *

**So the thing about the finger, it happened to me every time I had a fever as a kid. It literary felt like my fingers was about to fall off, some weird numbness. **

**Anyway, thank you for previous reviews. As always they brighten my day so keep 'em coming! **

**Next chapter will be christmas! So lot's of characters will show up **


	12. A Christmas mystery

**It might be the wrong time for a christmas story, but who cares?**

* * *

Christmas morning came. Snow falling in thick flakes, covering the streets and rooftops and the two fathers woke up with a bang. Door flew open hard enough to make the boxes of pinned bugs rattle on the shelf and Hamish tossed himself into the bed.

"Give me my gifts!" he shouted and crawled in between them. They should never had promised him one gift after breakfast if he slept in his own bed all nigh. "Now!" Sherlock started the day with a groan and turned his back to them both. He and John had been up late last night, putting gifts under the tree that one day showed up on their porch. Probably mrs Hudson's doing and not even Sherlock was cold hearted enough to decline the tree.

The lowest branches hung over the many boxes and bags and Hamish had noticed it on his way down, believing that Santa had actually been there since the floor had been empty when he went to bed.

"What tone is that?" John asked him and giggled and he pulled him into a hug. "Ask nicely."

"May I open my gift please?" Hamish asked with a new tone, trying to be as charming as he could. Of course he had inherited the talent in acting form his dad, and John fell just as easily for him as for Sherlock.

"Of course." he said. "Wake dad up and I'll make us some hot chocolate."

As he left the bed, Hamish tossed himself on top of Sherlock and shook his shoulder violently.

"Dad!" he shouted eagerly and pulled the cover, ready to do anything to get him up. "Come on! UP!" The detective groaned loudly and rolled over on his back to meet his sons big grin. "You need to get up!"

"I'm about to." he yawned and rubbed his eye, feeling Hamish jump up and down on his knees. "Calm it or christmas is canceled!" The bouncing stopped and he heard the quick footsteps out of the room, Hamish was now discussing his threat with his daddy.

"No, we're not cancelling christmas." said John laud enough for him to hear from the kitchen. "Get up Sherlock!"

He heaved himself out of bed, still a bit weak of the awful fever he and Hamish had shared just a couple of days ago, but he would never let the numbness in his limbs keep him off his usual day to day routine. The silk was cold around his skin as he swept the gown around his shoulders and so was the air. The winter weather found its way into the flat in every creak and had no mercy on any of them. As he left the room he heard sounds of china and and cutlers being placed on a tray.

"Why is it so damn cold?" he asked as he emerged in the kitchen and saw the two boys working hard to get breakfast ready. Hamish put his soul into it, getting everything that was needed to make a proper sandwich because he knew that as soon as everything was on place, he would be able to choose whatever gift he wanted from under the tree.

"I don't know. Something might be wrong with the heater." John guessed. "And watch your mouth." Hamish giggled when he heard John warning his father and ran over the floor to embrace him.

"I can warm you!" he shouted and jumped up in his arms. Sherlock pulled him up and above his head and took a good look at the boy wearing the dark blue pyjamas full of stars and moons.

"Please do." he smirked and felt the arms wrap around his neck and his warm body press against his chest. "You're almost as warming as a radiator, aren't you?"

"I'm on fire!" Hamish shouted happily and Sherlock tossed his head back in laughed. "Am I burning you dad?" Sherlock continued to laugh and hugged him a little harder.

"We better kick you out in the snow for a bit to cool you down."

"Don't be silly." he giggled and kissed his fathers cheek when John announced that breakfast was served.

"When is uncle Greg and Molly coming over?" Hamish asked as they moved to the sitting room and John pulled a face.

"Uncle Greg? Why are you calling him uncle?" he asked and fell down beside him in the sofa. This was the first time Hamish had talked about any other persons than his fathers and mrs Hudson, and neither Sherlock or John had ever called Greg uncle.

Now it was Hamish turn to pull a face, he frowned and looked up and Sherlock, whose lap he was comfortably placed in. Then he looked back at John, nibbling his bottom lip like he didn't understand what John was talking about.

"Isn't he?" he asked and crocked is head and his eyebrows knitted together. Sherlock snorted and shook his head but John opened his mouth to speak.

"Somewhat, he is." he told him and Hamish seemed to be quite happy with the simple explanation.

In the next second, with no interest for the breakfast on the table, he was off to search amongst the presents under the tree and neither Sherlock or John tried to stop him. They just watched while the eager boy looked for his name on every label on the christmas-themed wrappers and card.

"Dad? Have you been making me puzzles?" he asked suddenly and held up one of the gifts, sloppy wrapped and you could clearly see what it contained. A crocked smile started to twitch the corners of Sherlock's mouth and he lifted an eyebrow.

"Maybe." he said and Hamish ran across the room, holding the gift with his two hands.

"Can I open this first?" he asked, sending John a questioning glance since he was the one more strict when it came to the rules. He knew very well that the deal was no presents before breakfast.  
"Of course." John answered him and spared him the feeling of curiosity before it got out of hand.

The paper was torn off in the blink of an eye and John turned to Sherlock, no idea of what was going on. Hamish stared at the doorknob in his hand and so did John. It was the knob to their wardrobe, why on earth had Sherlock wrapped it up. In the next second Hamish was off, and Sherlock uncrossed his legs and pulled John with him to follow Hamish.

"What did you do?" John asked him in a whisper and Sherlock pursed his lips, gave him a mysterious look without giving him an answer.

As they reached their bedroom and Hamish twisted the knob back in the door. The door opened with the usual squeak and his parents stood put in the door. They boy stared into the wardrobe, observed every garment on the hangers and every drawer in the left compartment. He suddenly twitched and leaned further in, taking a deep breath with his nose pressed against one of John's jumpers and John frowned, feeling his eyebrows knit together and then Hamish was off again. Sherlock pushed John aside so that he was out of the way when the boy passed them and Sherlock was quickly behind him. They followed him up the stairs, into the upstairs bathroom where Hamish jumped up on the stool to reach the mirror and pulled the small cabinet open. The blue-green eyes scanned the shelfs and he reached for the kids-toothpaste, popped up the lid and took a whiff. Then he saw something that didn't belong there. A little chip of porcelain and he observed it between his fingertips.

Sherlock was still quiet and John started to understand. This was a game, Sherlock had made a gift-hunt full of clues. Sherlock was training Hamish.

They followed him down the stairs, all the way down to the first floor where Hamish stopped in front of mrs Hudson's door and he knocked it urgently. Then they waited, and John took the opportunity to turn to Sherlock.

"Did you ruin one of my jumpers with toothpaste because of this?" he asked, not feeling any sort of anger against it but he had to ask. He was given the same look Sherlock always had when a case was intriguing and John started to understand how much he enjoyed seeing Hamish making deductions.

"Hello!" mrs Hudson sang when she opened the door, still dressed in her nightgown, and made herself ready for a christmas-hug, but Hamish dodged and flew into her flat, leaving her looking surprised in the doorway.

"Don't worry, mrs Hudson." Sherlock smiled and cupped her shoulders, kissed her cheek and walked into her flat as well. "Just solving a mystery." And mrs Hudson looked quite pleased with just those words. John was close behind, but wanted to pay more respect to the old woman who was unwillingly pulled into the "mystery solving".

"Merry Christmas, mrs Hudson." he greeted her lovingly and pulled her into a warm hug. "Feel welcome for a cup of chocolate upstairs when this is over."

"Oh don't worry about little me." she started and followed the family into her sitting room where Hamish was searching her glass cabinet full of her wedding china. "I'll just enjoy a cuppa and watch the morning shows."

"Oh, please." John laughed. "Let us treat you breakfast."

Hamish took one of the cups, observed the little chip on the edge and matched it with the piece in his hand. It was a perfect match and he looked down in the cup and saw the grey spots. He put his nose down the china and took a whiff, putting it back on the shelf and then he was off again. Taking Sherlock's hand and pulled him out of the flat, seizing John's arm as well on his way out and there was no time for good byes. The boy pulled them up the stairs again, into the sitting room where he released them both to get to the fireplace. He pinched the aches and smelled it between hid fingers, figuring it was the same thing that had tainted mrs Hudson's cup. Pieces of newspapers and old letters that had somehow escaped the flames from last nights fire and they ended up in his hands. He stared at them with focused eyes and Sherlock had never looked so proud. He crossed his arms when Hamish jumped on his feet and held up the small scrap that looked like a reseat.

"We need to get to Angelo's!" he shouted and Sherlock beamed of happiness, bitting his bottom lip as he smiled at his eager son.

"If you believe that's the best, then we should." he said and John held back his giggling. He had never been more proud of his boys.

* * *

They took a cab since the winter weather had chosen this day to be coldest one of the year. Hamish was dressed from head to toe in his thick overall and John wished he'd been a bit more strict when it came to Sherlock's clothing. Still the same coat, a scarfs around his neck, and that was it for him. John did not look forward to the day when Sherlock laid in bed with pneumonia.

Hamish swayed his legs over the edge of his car seat, almost shaking with anticipation, and it wasn't very far from John to do the same. He had no clue what would be waiting for them at Angelo's and Sherlock kept his secrets.

Getting Hamish through breakfast before they left was hellish, he had no interest in eating when there was something at Angelo's that needed to be solved. But after a half and hour of nagging from both his parents, he gulped his chocolate and swallowed a sandwich with cucumber and ham.

"Tell me how you solved it." Sherlock demanded and turned his head from the window. There was nothing more he wanted to know than how Hamish's mind worked during their little game.

"Yes, please." John agreed. "You didn't make one single move wrong." Their son lifted his gaze after being hypnotised by the cabdrivers photos stuck to the dashboard and looked between them both.

"The toothpaste was easy." he said and started to nibble his nails. "Your's minty, mine is more sweet. Pretty obvious." John saw how Sherlock beamed by the pride he felt. "And the chip had a golden edge. None of our china has a golden edge, so I figured it had to be granny's."

"What about the ashes?" Sherlock asked and took his gloves off. "Mrs Hudson's got a fireplace but you never bothered to look in hers."

"We use a different kind of fluid to get her fire going. Hers smell more like alcohol, ours is more chemical, and non-poisonous because you are afraid I might try to drink it." He turned to John by his last words and gave him a look telling him his daddy was stupid. "Why would I ever try to drink it?" A loud snort was heard from Sherlock and he ruffled Hamish's hair.

"Well, your dad likes to do stupid things sometimes, I guess I thought that one day you might do the same." John answered him with a teasing smile and his son pulled a face.

"Now you're the stupid one, daddy." he joked and Sherlock giggled happily. "I would never do such an experiment."

"Good." John cheered and pulled him to his side. "I have to say, I'm very impressed of your deductions-skills this morning. You're just like your dad."

"Nah.." Hamish muttered and shrugged. "More like you. I'm not as good as dad yet."

John sucked in his bottom lip and looked up at Sherlock whose face had never looked more radiant. Their son, the boy who'd only spoken for five days had already proven that he'd inherited his dad's sass and smugness. This was what John had to live with now, and he could not complain.

* * *

They arrived at Angelo's after a ten minute ride, for Hamish it felt like hours of course and he pushed his dad out of the car. Clinging to his coat they stepped up on the sidewalk and John took a look at the restaurant that was closed for the holiday.

"How did you know we needed to get to Angelo's?" John asked and Hamish started to search in his pockets after the little scrap of paper he'd found in the ashes.  
"Because of this." he said and John fell to squat beside him. "There a watermark on his reseat-paper." There was not much left of he grey spot, and John had never cared to notice the backside of every reseat he'd received from this restaurant. "And then there was this." He turned it over and pointed with his short fingers. "I might not be able to read, but after all these times I've ordered pavlova at this place, I recognise the word." Sherlock picked him up from the ground and placed his lips on his nose.

"Good boy." he praised him and Hamish tossed his arms around his neck. "Now, let's knock at the door." The grip around his tightened with those words and the boy pressed his forehead to his shoulder.

Of course, this was the first time since the music store that Hamish had left home. The shyness was still strong and this wasn't one of the "usual things".

"It's okay Hamish." John calmed him and stroke his back. "You know Angelo. He's nothing to be afraid of." Sherlock didn't need to ask his son or John any questions to know what was going on and he tightened his grip around little Hamish before he took a step closer to the door.  
"There is absolutely no need for you to speak in there." he assured him and shifted him from one arm to the other so he could take John's hand. "Angelo is always to busy to listen to anyone anyway." He stopped in front of the glass door and John could see the silhouette of the big man moving around in the dark. "Now, shall you knock? Or shall I?" He didn't answer him, just turned his head and shot John a nervous look.

"This is your case, Hamish." his daddy told him. "Don't make your dad solve this one for you." He tried to sound as encouraging as he possibly could, Hamish had brought them this far and he would probably regret it if he didn't finnish it on his own.

"Come on." Sherlock murmured close to his ear and the arms around him eased their grip. "What's the worst that could happen?" After a moment of thinking, Hamish lifted his head, sucking his bottom lip and eyed his father. "You gonna knock?" He nodded shyly and Sherlock stepped closer to the glass door. Three knocks, and the shadow started to move in the darkened restaurant. Angelo opened with a wide smile and crossed his arms over his big belly.  
"Well good morning Watson-Holmes's!" he greeted them and Hamish hid his face under Sherlocks chin. "Merry christmas! Hello Hamish! You've grown big, look at you!" The boy pressed himself even tighter to Sherlock who pulled the hat off his head.

"Come on handsome." his dad begged him. "I think Angelo might have something for you." It took some seconds, but eventually Hamish squirmed out of his arms and down on the ground. Facing Angelo, he managed to give him a weak smile and he reached out for John's hand to have some kind of support.

"Now where did I put that..." Angelo started a search in all his pockets and finally brought forward a small envelope. "Here you go, your father told me to give you this."

Hamish stared at the yellowish letter in his hand and turned it over. There were no letters or marks and on the inside he only found a long metal string, rolled up to a loop. He picked it up and the stiff string uncurled itself. Then he realised what this meant and he spun around to look at Sherlock who shrugged.

"Well?" the detective smirked. "Where are we off to next?"

In the blink of an eye, Hamish slunk around Angelo and ran into the restaurant. They followed him quickly and amongst the many tables and chairs Hamish reach the end of his search.

The big, black Steinway that had been in the restaurant for ages was what he'd been working his way here for and he stopped and stared at the instrument. John bit his lip not to smile ridiculously and seized Sherlock's arms.  
"Oh, love. What did you do?" he asked happily as he shivered and Sherlock chuckled darkly.

Hamish popped up the lid and saw the note taped to the keys. He couldn't read, but he knew the letters of his name and John and Sherlock would never forget the smile on his lips as he turned to look at them.

"It's yours." Sherlock answered to the questions he didn't dare to ask and Hamish ran across the room and jumped up in his arms. John wish he could say that he didn't believe that Sherlock had bought a piano without telling him, but he did. That was his Sherlock and he watched with love how Hamish kissed his father's face over and over again to thank him.

"Merry christmas handsome. And don't forget to thank your daddy as well. It's from him too." The boy crawled over to John's embrace and he hugged him hard, kissed his face as well before he squirmed down in the floor to get back to his gift.

"How are we going to get it home?" John asked as Hamish started to press the keys in a random order and he fell into Sherlock's arms.

"Already taken care of." he smirked and kissed the temple of his husband. "Lestrade is bringing it by later."

Angelo grinned from where he stood and watched the little boy.

"I've been trying to get rid of that piano for ages." he smirked." I would throw it away if it wasn't such a majestic piece. I never really had the heart to do it though. I guess it's in proper hands now."

They stayed for the next hour, letting Hamish play the piano while Angelo made him a pavlova as a christmas-treat. This time it was Sherlock's turn to have Hamish in his lap while he tested out his new instrument and John came to realise that his husband wasn't as good as he thought at this. Just as him, he knew the chords but his violin fingers wasn't used to this kind of playing.

John enjoyed a cup of coffee as he observed them and Hamish made sure to thank them both when Angelo turned to the kitchen to make him the desert. The doctor took one of the chairs and joined them as the two murmured to each other.

"So what do you think Hamish?" he asked.

"It's the best gift ever." he answered him without taking his eyes of the keys.

* * *

Back home Hamish was all over the place, to eager to wait the three short hours for the piano to arrive. He spent the time with looking through all the books because John was sure he'd save a note book from his time in school and the boy wanted, no, needed to learn how to play the instrument properly.

"Make sure to put everything back when you're done." John told him and moved all the magazines from the table to the crocked rack by the the telly. "We don't want the place to be a mess when our guests arrives." A nod was all that came from the boy, mrs Hudson was sitting in Sherlock's armchair and he still didn't speak in front of her.

It was like he had forgotten all the other presents under the tree, the piano was the only thing that was on his mind. He would look through Sherlock's notes, but that man had his rules when it came to that folder. Sherlock was going to show it to him someday, he promised, but he didn't want his works to pass down one generation until Hamish was trained enough, like he needed to earn them.

Sherlock himself was standing by the window, plucking the strings on his violin as he watched the snowy street.

"Clara's here." he said loudly and Hamish flew down the stairs without picking up the books. Joyful cheering and helloing was soon to be heard from the first floor and Sherlock groan irritably from his spot.

"Now be nice." John pleaded and snuck up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist. "Christmas comes once a year. Tomorrow it will just be us again."

"She's met someone new." he deducted and entwined their hands over his ribs. "Quite recently, you know what that means." It was now John's turn to groan.

"She's gonna talk about it all night." he hissed and Sherlock nodded.

"Oh, you two should be happy for her." mrs Hudson giggled, already blushing by the alcohol in the punch. "You never know, this might be the one."

"It's not." Sherlock smirked and turned to kiss his husband. "I'll give it them two months."

"Bet you three." John grinned. "Fifty quid?" Sherlock agreed and mrs Hudson gave them the evil eye from the armchair.

"I don't believe in God, but you two will be punished by some higher power some day." she said and reached out the glass to John for a refill.

* * *

Some hours later, the people were gathered in the flat and food was served. Molly, Greg and John was happily discussing anything that came to mind. Clara discussed her latest love life with mrs Hudson, and Sherlock and Hamish was sitting quietly on the edge, poking their food. Sherlock wanted to leave, and Hamish wanted to get back to the piano that was perfectly placed by the wall on the right side of the entrance door. Neither of them were particularly fond of big crowds, but they did their best to learn the ways of a social life. Sherlock gulped his wine as Clara turned to him and started to tell him the same story she'd told mrs Hudson and John clenched his jaw when he saw Sherlock getting ready for awful deductions.

".. and then we went to that spa outside Dublin and it was marvellous and they had this big room with aquarium-walls, oh, it was amazing..." Sherlock pursed his lips and just nodded, giving her his crazy eyes and be couldn't be happier when the woman finally turned to John. "You would love her John, she's great, she's a midwife. She's wanted to come, but she's celebrating with her parents today."

"No, she's not." Sherlock mumbled and took another gulp of the wine. John held his breath, begging to some supernatural power that Clara didn't hear him. His pray seemed to be heard, because Clara kept going about how this woman, who's name he'd already forgotten, had changed her life.

"So Hamish?" Greg interrupted over the table and the boy's eyes grew as he looked up from the cold food. "Have you opened any other presents yet?" This was what Hamish hated the most. He swallowed hard and shook his head, all eyes was directed at him and he sighed loudly, making himself ready to do something unexpected. He sank in the chair and disappeared under the table without a noise and Sherlock envied him, wished he could do the same in this situation. Then he felt Hamish wrap his arms around his leg and he reached under the table to ruffle his hair.

"I wish I could join you, Hamish." he whispered and looked down between his legs and was met by a big smile from the boy. "Here." He took the basket of garlic bread that was on the table for the sake of Hamish and the little sneaky boy accepted two or three before Sherlock put them back.

"So he's still..." Greg mumbled and looked at John.  
"Yeah." he answered simply. Neither he or Sherlock had told anyone that Hamish had started talking to them. They were afraid that people would start to nag the boy if that information reached them. "It will come."

The dinner continued, once and a while Hamish would pull Sherlock's leg to get his attention and he was given something to snack on from the table. Clara kept going about her lover and mrs Hudson was getting more tipsy by the alcohol entering her system. Sherlock observed how Greg and Molly seemed to be hitting it off and he frowned by the weird situation in the room. He didn't like it.

"Anyone up for a cup of some coffee?" John asked when everyone seemed to be done with the dinner and Sherlock felt his stomach turn when everyone answered him at the same time. There was to many voices in the room, and Clara had lowered the IQ to a dangerous level by now.

"I'll help you get this away." mrs Hudson said and collected all the plates and dishes around the table when John closed in on Sherlock. All the other were busy talking to pay attention to their conversation.

"Why don't you take Hamish and do something different for a while?" he asked him with a low voice and kissed his cheek. "I know you don't wanna be here." Hamish heard him and crawled up in Sherlock's arms and they fled the kitchen before John could tell them differently.

"So, he doesn't talk at all?" Clara asked and refiled her glass with wine.

"Not yet." John answered and started the coffee-maker. "He's not ready for it just yet."

"Does he even have a voice?" He turned to her, sucking his lips.

"Yeah, of course he does. He made sounds as a baby, he just doesn't like that kind of communication."

"Isn't there anything you can do about it?" It was now Greg that asked the questions.

"He will speak when he's ready for it." John repeated and pulled out the fruitcake from the cabinet. These questions started to annoy him, he didn't like it when Hamish condition was the main topic.

"Do you think he ever will?" He sighed loudly and turned to the group sitting around the table.

"Hamish will speak when he wants to. The more people try to encourage him to do it, the more scared he gets. Just keep up talking to him like you talk to other kids and eventually he will talk as well." He expected them to continue their curiosity but they seemed happy with his answer and returned to the earlier topic. From the sitting room the piano was heard and John came to the conclusion that his boys had fled to the instrument as soon as he'd given them the permission.

* * *

Hamish pressed the keys while sitting in Sherlock's lap and enjoyed when his father did the same.

"Do we know someone who plays the piano?" he asked in a whisper, afraid that someone in the kitchen would hear him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw by the question, he wanted to say no but he didn't want to lie to Hamish.

"Mycroft does." he said and his mouth tasted foul by the name.

"He does?" Hamish beamed and looked up at him under his dark stands of hair falling over his eyes.

"I'm afraid so. He's no expert, but he knows how to handle it properly."

"Do you think he would want to teach me?" he asked and turned in his lap, unbuttoned his blazer and stuck his hands inside the garment to find the warmth of him. Sherlock pursed his lips.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." he said and the smile on his sons lips faded. "But there are other's who can teach you." Hamish swallowed nervously. "I'll find you a teacher."

"But I know Mycroft. I might be able to talk to him. He treats me just like you do. Like a grown up."

"Yes but.." Sherlock started but he couldn't finnish the sentence. To find a teacher for Hamish would mean that they would bring in an unknown person into his life, and Hamish hated to get to know new people. It had taken him four years to talk to his parents, how long wouldn't it take for him to talk to a person he'd known for less? Mycroft had always been there, Hamish knew him always as well as he knew Greg and Molly. It would be easier for him to learn to talk to Mycroft. This was madness, did he even consider to let his devil of a brother become his son's teacher? This meant he would need to leave them in the same room for a couple of hours a week. Who knew what ideas his brother would put in his son's head when he wasn't around.

"I'll have to think about that." he finally answered. "Okay?" Hamish pressed his nose to his chest and smelled the soap and aftershave. The smile reappeared on his lips and Sherlock stroke his hair lovingly.

"Okay."

* * *

**Please, leave a review and tell me what you think. They'll always make me so happy.**


	13. The demon of the backyard

**Warning: Mentioning of Sherlock doing lethal experiments on a fish.**

* * *

Christmas past, so did new years and Sherlock's birthday. Winter turned to spring and the snow melted of the streets and rooftops, but he still hadn't picked up the phone to call his brother. And he wasn't planning on doing it soon either. Hamish seemed to have forgotten about it as well, he spent many hours in front of the piano everyday and Sherlock was proud to announce that his boy had an ear for music. Just the first week with the instrument, he'd learnt the melodies of his favourite tv-shows and now it was all they heard in the flat. He was still disappointed on his fingers though. To short, he complained angrily as he tried to add the chords to the melodies.

Still, Sherlock and John loved to watch him being so hypnotised by the music. He started to listen to Sherlock's old records of classical music. Beethoven was his favourite at the moment, he listened to "Adagio Molto Expressivo" at least four times a day and never grew tired of it. He loved it.

But then one day, when sun was shining bright and the temperature rose over 10 degrees outside for the first time in months, he just stopped. The piano wasn't played and neither was Beethoven. The boy was busy, running up and down the stairs and Sherlock watched from his armchair as he made his way into the kitchen, found an old shoebox under the counter and disappeared down the stairs again.

Sherlock went back to his book and decided to let the boy do whatever he did. It was his business and he wanted to share it, it was up to him. An half an hour later, he came running up the stairs again. Sprinting into the kitchen and pulled a chair over to the fridge to reach the handle.

"Don't open the containers with blue labels!" Sherlock reminded him as Hamish put his head in the fridge.

"I know!" he answered and looked amongst the sandwich toppings and leftovers. "When's daddy coming home?" Sherlock, with his photographic memory, knew exactly what the planner on the wall said.

"Some time after six." he answered and turned the page, not really concentrating on the words anymore but now more interested in what Hamish was doing, but he still didn't ask.

"Where's his medical bag?" Hamish continued and placed a piece of paté and a slice of ham on the table.

"I guess under the sink in the bathroom. What are you planning to steal from it?"

"Nothing!" he lied and ran away from the kitchen, leaving Sherlock with a smirk.

"Don't take anything poisonous or sharp, alright!" he shouted after him and turned the page, listened eagerly to the sounds of Hamish poke about in the cabinets. There was a sound of a zipper, then bottles rattled and followed by the rustling of plastic. The deduction was that Hamish was looking for bandages and plasters and with that, Sherlock had a clue what the boy was up to. He closed his book and raised from the armchair, made his way through the flat and found Hamish on his knees by the medical bag in the middle of the bathroom.

"I can't find the gauze." he complained and looked at the pictures of breathing masks and eye cleaners on the small packages. Sherlock stood in the door, overlooked the mess of containers and bottles and crouch beside him.

"Wrong bag." he said and pulled out a large, green metal box from under the sink. "There in here." The lid popped open and he picked up two packages of sterile gauze and looked at Hamish, observed his clothes hand hand. "How badly is it hurt?" The boy twitched, looked up with big eyes and as always surprised when his father knew exactly what he was up to without being told a word. Sherlock smirked and pointed at his dark green cardigan. "There's fur on your clothing, scratch marks on your left middle finger, but you're not bleeding, and neither does the cat so I would guess the cat's broken something and not wounded in some other way. In that case we might need to give it a splint." He found the wooden splints in the small metal container and gave them to the boy who smiled broadly, he always got chills when his father guessed right in so many ways.  
"Will you help me?" he asked and put the supplies in his small pockets. "It's in the shrubbery in the backyards. I think it fell from the neighbours roof."

"Why do you think that?" Sherlock required and followed the boy that hurried out of the room.

"Because I don't think he's moved since the fall."

Hamish reached for the plate of meat when Sherlock cleared his throat and nibbled his bottom lip.

"I think it will be pretty hard to treat a cat in the middle of a shrubbery. Leave the supplies up here, we'll bring it up."

"It's not an **it**, dad!" Hamish told him sharply and emptied his pockets of gauze and plasters on the table. "It's a **he**."

"Fine." he groaned and took his hand in his. "Show me where **he **is."

In the matter of seconds, Hamish pulled him out the backdoor and into the small garden that was so hidden by the buildings around it, it only met sun two hours a day. Sherlock had tried many times to grow spices and herbs in the soil for future experiments, but nothing would grow except weeds and grass. A little camp of a the shoebox was put up by the shrubbery by the left wall of a tall brick house and Hamish released his hand to run over to it.

Neither he or John had sat their foot in this place in ages and he roamed the area with unsure eyes, something was different. Then he saw the new garden furnitures on his right, mrs Hudson had spoken about it. This summer was already planned with garden barbecues and she had spared to expense on making the garden as nice as possible for it. Those furnitures was not cheap, and neither was the grill standing on the grass. He sighed loudly, not liking the idea of spending summer evenings outside with the smell of burnt meat and bugs he had to wave away from the face.

"Dad!?" Hamish shouted, interrupted his thinking. The boy stood on his knees in the mud, spread the leafless twigs and branches and he heard the weak squeak from the animal hiding in there. "You need to help me get him out. He's scared."

He crouched behind him, felt his shoes sink an inch by his weight in the mud and he pursed his lips when he saw the dirty water cover his soles by now.

"Let's do this quick." he sighed and pulled the gloves out of his pockets to not get scratched by the wild animal that panicked by just their presence. Hamish moved out of the way and then he saw the scared little creature recoil and hiss as he reached out his hands. The black fur raised on his back and his long tail grew in size as he tried to look as intimidating as possible.

"It's okay." Hamish smiled and Sherlock stared into the big yellow eyes full of hatred of being disturbed in it's den.

"He can understand you, Hamish." he told him and caught the cat around the ribs and yanked it out of the shrubbery. It screamed in anger and fright, kicked and bite but his thick gloves did the trick to not get hurt.

"Of course he can't" Hamish smirked and observed as his father put the cat in the shoebox and carefully held him down so he didn't try to run, the twisted leg would never manage any sort of struggle right now. "But I think he finds comfort in a calm voice."

Sherlock was sent back four and a half year in time when he heard those words and he gave Hamish a piercing stare. That was exactly what John had told him the first time he held Hamish. Was it just a coincidence?

"What makes you say that?" he asked and stepped out of the mud, still nailing the screaming cat to the bottom of the box and felt him try to squirm. Hamish shrugged and stood on his toes to take a look at the animal with big, interested eyes, stoke it's fur now when it couldn't attack him.

"It just looks like he gets calmer when I talk to him."

They brought him upstairs, put the box on the table and Sherlock stared at the cat. Not sure what he felt about it being in their flat or why he even agreed on helping it back to health. He never understood the company of creatures of any kind. He had a goldfish once, a present from his grandfather. It died during the first experiment. The fish had swum faster and faster in a perfect circle the hotter the water got in the pot, then it died and floated to the surface. Ridiculous animal. Then there was the family dog, Bernard. The oldest dog ever lived, he used to think. Senile and boring, sleeping at all hours except when food was served. Also ridiculous.

He stared at the cat, black as the night it was, eyes golden and piercing him with black, slim slits. Even the whiskers and pads was black, there wasn't a single white hair to be found and Sherlock had to confess that he was quite fascinated of how beautifully this cat was bred. It was like looking at a demon from a horror story. The cat purred by the pain in his twisted back leg and Sherlock stroke his glove-clothed finger over the ear and the creature leaned into the touch, blinked as they always did when they felt gregarious.

"We're gonna help you." Hamish comforted with a calm voice and reached out to touch the bridge between the golden eyes. "Don't worry."

"Get a towel, Hamish." Sherlock asked of him. "And the box of sedatives, we need to calm him if we're gonna do this as painless as possible."

"Maybe we should wait for daddy." Hamish doubted and Sherlock chuckled, they didn't need John for this. This was simple, just a shot and the cat would doze of for couple of hours so could pop the leg back into place, as he said, simple. A child could do it, he'd learnt in online.

"No need, I know what I'm doing." But Hamish shot him a furious look, furrowed his forehead and licked his lips.

"He's not for experiments!" he thundered, suddenly very protective of the cat. "You're gonna kill him."

"Oh shut it, I'm not gonna kill him. Get me a towel and the box of sedatives and needles." Sherlock demanded but Hamish stood and stared at his father to make sure he was telling the truth. He would not let this cat meet his end because the detective saw something fun and interesting in it. He had saved this cat, and he would not be the one leading it to its death because he's asked his father to help.

Sherlock frowned when he looked at his son, it irritated him that Hamish didn't believe him when he was always right. It was just a cat, why was he so worried about it. And besides, it wasn't an experiment if he knew what he was doing.

"Hamish, I promise. I'm not going to kill him. I'm just gonna take some of the pain away so it doesn't hurt when we splint the leg. And also, I can't hold him until daddy get's home and we can't let him go, he will hurt himself even more if he tries to run right now." That was all it took to make Hamish believe him and he backed away slowly before he turned and ran.

Sherlock was left alone with the cat, staring at it as it felt more and more safe in their presence and thought about Hamish's words. How on earth would the sound of his voice calm this creature? But after all that was the exact same thought he had when he saw Hamish for the first time, then five days lated the boy wouldn't stop screaming until he heard his voice. He bowed his head, stared into the yellow eyes and decided to experiment.

"It's going to be fine.. We're gonna pop that leg into place and in a couple of weeks you'll be able to run off again."

"He's not running off." He turned and saw Hamish hurry over the floor with the box in his hands. "He lives here now."

"No he doesn't." Sherlock snorted and pulled the towels out of his hands to swaddle the cat so he could give it the shot.

"No?" Hamish asked and gave him the stare of death. "What are we going to do with him then? We can't just toss him out now, can we? That's cruel!" Sherlock frowned and thought about that for a moment before turning to Hamish.  
"Is it?" he asked and the boy's face turned into a expression awfully like one of John's.

"What do you mean!? Of course it is! We can't just throw him out with a broken leg. How is he going to survive? We're keeping him!"

There was no place for a cat in the house, Sherlock thought and groaned. Stared at the demon in front of him with only the head sticking out of the towel.

"You're just like your daddy." he muttered and asked his son to hold the swaddled cat while he loaded a syringe. He jumped up on the table, placed both hands around the skinny creature and held him down. Eyes grew when he saw the big needle and a feeling of doubt appeared again.

"We should call daddy." he said winced when the liquid spurted out of the tip. "You don't know what you're doing." Sherlock groaned irritably and threw back his head.

"Yes I do! I read it on the internet."

"That's what scares me!" Hamish shouted and shoved the box away from him. "Call daddy!"

"Hamish.."

"NO! Call daddy! You're only gonna make it worse!"

"Oh, for christ's sake!" Sherlock snapped, and threw the syringe in the sink with a clink. Argue with Hamish was a bad idea he had come to notice. That boy could twist and turn his words until not even he could understand what they were talking about on a very childish level. With a loud sigh and pulled up his phone and dialled the number. Three signals and someone picked up.  
"John, you need to get home."

"What? Did something happened?" the doctor asked worriedly.

"Hamish wont trust me on patching up a broken leg." he groaned angrily and gave his soon a furious stare that the boy just waved away by rolling his eyes.

"WHAT!?" he shouted and Sherlock was rather surprised by his reaction. "What the hell are you doing Sherlock? What happened?" The sound of rattling keys and doors being opened and closed was heard and Sherlock gave him a grunt, not even the doctor believed he could cure a cat.

"I was just going to give him some sedative and he started shouting."

"What the hell Sherlock!" John fumed and his voice was muffled by the sound of cars. "Don't touch any of my supplies, don't try to heal him on your own. Just... hold him, try to comfort him." Sherlock frowned, turned to the cat and stared at the black silky fur. How was he supposed to comfort it?  
"Why are you getting so upset?" he asked him, just given the answer of a sigh and the doctor hung up on him.

"Dad..." He looked up at Hamish whose lips were white by his try to suffocate the giggling tickling in his chest. 1. "You do realise he thinks you're talking about me, right?" Sherlock pursed his lips and moved closer to him, saw the cat trying to squirm out of the fabric of the towel. "He thinks it's me who's broken a leg." The detective eyebrows knitted together over his nose.  
"Why would he think that?" he asked and put down his phone on the table, peeled a piece of the ham and held it before the eyes of the cat. It devoured it hungrily, growled as it chewed like he was afraid someone would steal it out of his mouth.

"Because you never mentioned anything about a cat." Hamish chuckled and pinched a pice of paté to let the cat lick it of his finger and Sherlock thought about the conversation he and John just had. _Shit, _he would be hearing this for weeks to come.

"Well, at least he's on his way home so we can put this behind us. Think you can hold him until daddy shows up?"

Still sitting on the table, feeding the cat now and then, Hamish nodded confidently. This was no match for him, the cat was weakened by the lack of food for the many days he'd lived in the bushes and had no energy to fight the grip of Hamish or the towel.

Sherlock observed the situation for a moment and realised that as he and John had predicted, Hamish had inherited the head of the detective but the heart of the doctor. A smile twitched the corners of his lips and he pulled out a chair to join him in the waiting, helped him feed the poor creature in his hands while Hamish cooed to it.

"You know," Sherlock began and and shoved the supplies aside for a moment. "When you were less than a week old, the only thing that would calm your screaming was when you heard me talk."

Hamish looked up under the dark strands of his dark hair and the blue-green eyes turned into a shade that matched the gold of the cat's demon like eyes.

"Really?" he asked with a thin smile and felt the rough surface of the animals tongue work it's way to the palm of his hand. It was craving salt and found it in the crease of the boy's hands, licked it eagerly and purred hungrily.

"Yes, your daddy wanted to threw you out the windows sometimes." he joked and managed to get a giggle out of Hamish who still was a little shaken by the sight of the needle in the hands of the wrong father. "But then we realised that the only time you would sleep was when I held you. I guess you found comfort in my voice." The detective almost got melancholy by the memories and he felt his smile getting more and more crocked as he thought of them.

"Daddy would never throw me out the window." Hamish giggled and got very curious on the subject. "Did I cry a lot?"

"Only always." Sherlock muttered and scratched his head. "But luckily, you were very distracting. You never got boring. There was always something to do with you around."

"Are you saying I'm boring now!?" Hamish exclaimed as he frowned, almost looking worried that he actually was and Sherlock nearly panicked when he saw those thoughts travels his sons head.

"What! No!" he shouted. "Of course not. You're still... distracting, i guess. Just.. in a different way." Hamish eyed his father for a second, giving him a laugh filled of smugness and Sherlock felt his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "What?" The boy nibbled his bottom lip and turned to the cat again.

"You just.. looked so nervous for a moment." he answered, proud of his success of putting his father in such an awkward situation and Sherlock furrowed. Pursed his lips so he wouldn't slip in a comeback like he did with everyone else that teased him. No, he let Hamish win this round and returned to feeding the cat when they heard the door downstairs.  
"Sherlock!?" John shouted with a voice echoing through the house. "Sherlock!?"  
"In the kitchen!" he answered calmly and listened to the quick footsteps in the stairs reaching the entrance. The doctor rushed into the kitchen, still in the white robe and heart in his throat as he observed the scene. His face turned from terrified to confused in seconds and he stared at Hamish and the cat as his eyebrows knitted together.

"What..." was all that left his gaping mouth and he took two long steps to get closer to the table. Chest heaving, his shoulders dropped several inches as he started to understand what Sherlock had been talking about on the phone. Both lips was sharply bitten by his teeth as he shot Sherlock a murderous look. "A cat!?"

"Yes, John. A cat." Sherlock sneered when he decided to never agree to that he had done anything wrong and John pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a big breath with all the fear and worry he'd felt the last couple of minutes.

"And you didn't care to mention that as we spoke?" he fumed and it looked like he tried to pull the face of the bones.

"If you had been more observant, you might have noticed I did." Sherlock tried and John groaned loudly as he pulled the hair by the roots.

"Oh for christ's sake, Sherlock. This might be the day that I decide to put you down." he moaned angrily and arms fell to his sides as he walked over to the chair beside his husband and fell down heavily. "So what happened?" He leaned close to the black cat and stared into the yellow eyes that so frightfully observed the monsters that had kidnapped him.

"Hamish found him outside." Sherlock answered him and John took the poor thing out of Hamish's hands. Unfolded towel and the cat looked to tired to fight the hands.

Sherlock loved to see his husband work and show his medical skills. The cat dozed off in the shoebox as he sedated him and the doctor kept himself quiet during the procedure. Maybe he was concentrated, maybe he was furious or maybe he was afraid that he if opened his mouth he would blurt things out on Sherlock that didn't fit the ears of a child. It didn't matter to any of them tough, because he was healing the cat, popping his leg back into place and splinting it tightly, leaving Hamish with a satisfied smile. He took a deep breath when he was done and looked up at his son.  
"There, all done." he muttered. "He will wake up in a couple of hours." Hamish picked up the lips cat and held him like an infant to his chest. "What are we gonna do with him?"

"His name is Boe." the boy said and played with the long tail. "And Boe lives here now."

And that's how the Watson-Holmes family got grew with another member. Because neither Sherlock or John had the heart to say no to the poor animal that Hamish's had saved.

* * *

**Don't forget to leave a review. They always make me happy!**


	14. Tumble in the Thames

**Kind of an angsty chapter, be warned, and don't hate me. **

* * *

Boe. Little Boe the cat.

Sherlock stared at it as it made his way through the sitting room with his left back leg sticking out at its side, still tightly splinted. John had done a good job. The cat limped across the floor to the bowl of water and lapped up the clear liquid with its rough tongue.

He still couldn't understand the company of it though. So far it hadn't made a larger impact on the family, it was hardly noticeable.

"Boe?" he tried as he sat in his armchair and observed it. It didn't react. "Boe!?" It was clearly stupid. Unintelligent. He sighed disappointedly and lowered his hands from his chin. This cat had proven to be just as interesting as the other two animals he'd owned in his life. So far, the only thing the creature had done to impress him was how much hair that little thing could shed but still have such a thick fur, it seemed improbable. John's chair, the cat's favourite, was a mess. The pillows on the sofa had picked it up too and even if he never picked up the damn thing even he was covered in it. Just this morning he'd spent thirty minutes plucking it of his shirt. But he couldn't hate it. The smiles that appeared on Hamish's lips when he held it and played with it, was worth it. Hamish loved it. **HIM! **Him. And so did John. Well, maybe he didn't love it but he liked it at least. Right now, Sherlock biggest fear was that the thing would grow on him too.

"Boe!?" he tried again and to his surprise the cat turned. Stared at him with his yellow eyes and licked his black nose. He felt a smile twitch his lips and he knotted his hands as he decided to make a little experiment. "Come here." The cat opened his mouth and sneezed, twitched as he did so and Sherlock snorted when he saw it. To his disappointment, he found it kind of adorable. "Bless you." The cat made his way over the floor again, clawed the carped and Sherlock didn't care one bit. He had made more damage to that carpet than that cat could ever do. When it was done with its claws, he made his way over to his chair, leaned close to his legs and stroke himself against them. Sherlock stiffened and groaned irritably when it happened, knowing that it would take for ever to get the hair off his trousers.

This cat had started to show affection after only two days it this flat, evolved from a aggressive beast into a wimpy house cat. And now it purred. Sherlock looked down on it at heard the weak sound of a mew as it bumped his head to his shin, possibly begging to be picked up since it couldn't jump. The detective pursed his lips and cleared his throat.

"No..." he said softly but the cat looked up at him and made the same silly sound. "I am not gonna pet you." The next second, the cat sprawled out across his feet and pawed the floor as it purred. Sherlock sighed loudly again and leaned forward to look at it from above. This thing could really stretch out, it was five inches longer all of a sudden.

"How do you do that?" he heard himself ask. "What's wrong with your spine?" He reached down and seized it under his front legs. As he lifted it the cat was limp, and it got even two inches longer. Still purring, the cat seemed to be asleep in this awkward position. Front legs pointing right at him, back legs just hanging under him and the tip of the tail whipping back and forth. "Are you supposed to do that? Or is something wrong with you?" He put it down in his lap and the creature shrunk, curled itself together in a circle and the broken leg ended up across its neck where it stayed. Sherlock looked at it and chuckled at the sight of that leg being so straight when the rest of it could bend however it wanted.

Damn, he was starting to get fond of it.

"Sherlock?" John's voice sounded through the flat and Sherlock panicked. He would not be seen cuddling with this cat. Quickly he picked him up and placed him in the chair across from him, fell back in his own and tried to slap the fur away from his thighs. "Sherlock?"

John appeared in the doorway on the other side of the kitchen, dressed in his pyjamas and a robe, newly awake. Sherlock came to the conclusion that a night had past. The doctor scratched his scalp and yawned big enough for his jaw to dislocate before he made his way to the coffeemaker.

"Did you get any sleep tonight?" he asked with a morning-hoarse voice.

"No." Sherlock answered and and smiled as the cat tried to bite itself between its toes.

"Is Hamish up?"

"No." The cat jolted and hitched eyes and ears as the coffee grinder started, looked around in panic and Sherlock chuckled. As he thought, this animal had become a wimpy house cat. It calm itself as quick as the machine stopped and slumped down on the cushion again. "Coward." he mumbled.

"Is this what you've been doing all night?" He looked up and saw John standing in the doorway with a glass of juice in his hand. "Talking to... Boe?"

"No." he answered quickly and realised that he'd been smiling at the little thing in the chair. "Of course not." John smirked and gulped his juice.

"Anything going on today?" he continued and turned back to the kitchen to make some toast. Sherlock leaned back in his chair and eyed the cat, sighed loudly and crossed his long legs.

"The Thames." he answered and heard the movements the floor above, Hamish was up.

"Okay." John groaned. "When are we leaving?"

"After breakfast." the detective answered and shot a glance at the door as the boy entered. "Good morning." Hamish yawned and stretched his arms over his head, hair in every direction.

"Morning." he answered and ran over the floor and jumped up in his lap to give him a hug. Fingers tangled his curls and he placed his arms around the thin body. "Have you been up all night?"

"None of your concern." Sherlock answered him and pressed his lips to his cheek. "Ask daddy for some breakfast. Lestrade's summoned us." The boy became very eager by those words and pulled back to look at his father.

"Murder?" he asked and eyes grew, making Sherlock proud that his son became just as excited as him when a good murder came up.

"Of course." he answered and straightened out the messy strands in his hair. "What else?"

"Kidnapping, poisoning, burglary." Hamish smiled and looked down on his trousers, seeing something he thought would be weeks before it happened. "Have you been cuddling with Boe?" Sherlock stiffened where he sat and opened his mouth to speak but had no idea how he was pulling himself out of this one.

"No." he lied but Hamish looked up at him, almost proudly.

"Yes you have." he chuckled and realised that his father had grown found of their new pet. "I told you you'd like him." Sherlock pursed his lips and let out a groan.

"I don't." he said and put Hamish down on the floor. "That cat is just as boring as any other animal." But he knew that his son would never fall for those lies. "Now hurry up. We wont leave until you've had a proper breakfast."

* * *

They arrived at the crime scene an hour later. Weather was colder, ice was still covering patches of the river and they saw the group of officers gathered out on the pier, all of them dressed in the thick winter coats.

"Maybe you should have worn your overall today." John said and looked down at Hamish who buttoned his coat all the way up to his neck with his clumsy little fingers.

"It's not that cold." Sherlock argued and squatted. Hamish jumped up on his back and he rose with his hands supporting under his sons legs, Hamish loved to ride his back. "Okay there, handsome?"

"Absolutely." he answered and wound his arms around his neck, holding on for dear life since he knew how quickly his father could forget him if this case was interesting. "Forward!" he said and pointed to the pier, and that was the last thing Hamish said as they reached the officers. They weren't aloud to hear his voice yet. But even if Hamish never spoken as much as a word to the DI, the man was always happy to see him.

"Well hello!" he cheered when he saw the little creature on the detective's back. "I see you've brought pocket-Holmes. Hello Hay." Hamish just waved, smiled weakly and stared at the blue swollen girl on the wooden deck. Lestrade looked between the victim and the boy, gritting his teeth as he thought about how horrible this scene would be to other kids. "I told Sherlock it was messy. You think Hamish's okay with this?"

"Oh, his fine." Sherlock waved away and stepped closer to the bloated girl. Once again he squatted and Hamish jumped off his back to stand next to him, as alway he saw this as a lesson. Every piece of information his fathers could give him, he put in his memory bank for future needs.

John kneeled beside the body and roamed over her, noticing everything out of the ordinary.

"We found her chained to the pillar right there." Lestrade began and pointed. "Thirteen years old, last seen leaving the sub at Piccadilly, then she.." he paused and took a deep breath of ignorance as he shrugged. ".. magically disappeared from the security cameras. Her mates made it up to the streets, she didn't." Sherlock started to examine her school uniform, emptied her pockets on their contents.

"Check the stations doors to the underground system. The killer took her out of the crowd, brought her down there where he couldn't be seen."

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked him when Hamish suddenly pointed at her shoes and Sherlock stopped in mid-deduction and stared at his son. The boy looked back, nibbling his bottom lip as his mind worked like clockwork.  
"The dirt on her shoes." Sherlock snickered and felt his stomach tighten. His son was on his way to become something big, just like him. "That is ground metal, very common close to the tracks. The sub passes a hundred times a day, the metal grounds together with the oil." He smeared the dirt between his fingers and smelled it. "She was dragged over the tracks." He held out his finger to Hamish who smelled the black dirt to put it in his memory and John smiled when he saw them. "How long has she been dead?"

"Six, maybe seven hours." John said and forced her lids open to look at her eyes. "Suffered a major blow to the head, pupils are different size. Possibly unconscious as she drowned because there are no signs of struggle. No bruises, cuts or anything of the chains. Frostbites on her skin, probably been in the water for an hours before the tide reached her nose." Hamish moved over to his side to get a better look over what he was pointing and talking about. He reached for her head and turned it, water flooded out of her mouth and the dirty blond hair was tainted with blood on the back of her skull. "Hit with a blunt object. Possibly a pipe, maybe a bat."

Sherlock saw how Hamish started to nibble his bottom lip again, his eyebrows met above his nose and he crocked his head while he observed, mind lost in the learning.

"What is it?" he asked and his son reached for the blue hand, picked it up from the soaked deck and looked at her fingers. All nails was in perfect shape, except the thumb. There was a crack from the tip to the cuticle but no bruise was formed. The magnifying glass popped up and Sherlock stared at the nail for a long minute as he tried to deduce what had happened to the young girl. John kept searching her skin and limbs for marks when they suddenly heard a loud thud followed by a splash. Both Sherlock and John woke up from their concentration and looked for the source of the sound when they realised someone important was missing from their side.

"Where's Hamish?" John shouted and flew up from his squatting position, looked around in panic and tried to find his little boy that had suddenly disappeared. Sherlock eyes grew and shot up from the floor, ran to the railing stared down in the icy water, quickly coming to the conclusion what had just happened.

The officers, who'd turned their backs since they knew what kind of yelling they'd be exposed with if they interrupted the detective's concentration, quickly faced them again. Fear written all over their faces as they realised who was missing from the scene.

"What happened?" John heard Lestrade asking in a distance and the next thing he saw was his husband tossing himself into the cold water. Even if it wasn't the doctor who had hit the water, it was still his blood that froze.

"Hamish?" he shouted and felt the panic press the air out of his lungs. Every possible scenario bombarded his mind and he followed Lestrade to the railing to look down in the dark water, seeing the bubbles break the surface and John knew, he knew that this would end badly.

"GET THE BOAT OUT THERE!" Lestrade shouted to the officers who John never seen so quick on their feet.

Boat? And then John realised that the only way out of the cold water was the 50 yard swim to the shore. The pier was to high up for them to get up on again, and John whimpered i fear. Should he jump too? No, he needed to be the one who could keep them warm when they came back up. "DID ANYONE SEE WHAT HAPPENED?"

"A BOAT WON'T BE FAST ENOUGH!" John shouted in panic and remembered the chain on the pier that had held the young girl put to the pillar. "That water's ice cold, Sherlock might manage the cold, but Hamish wont as easily." The chain hit the dark water and he held it tightly in his shaking hands, this was the only lifeline they had.

The bubbles started to lessen, Hamish's clothes had gotten heavy with water and with his lack of swimming skill he must have sunk like a rock. John caught himself praying, but he would never put the words in his memory. When this was over, he was going to make Sherlock learn him how to delete things from his mind.

The water start to crush down on him, air escaped as his lungs pressed together in his chest and he reached down in his pocked for the small torch. It shifted green in the icy water and he searched the darkness. That's when he saw the pale shine of his sons face sinking to the bottom and he pinched the little torch between his teeth to free his hands. He swum, not letting the coldness slowing him. Transport, he thought as it bit his skin, nothing more than a transport. When he finally reached the cold boy he grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him close to his chest. Pressed his lips to his and gave him the last air in his lungs before he kicked himself to the surface. Without that lightening air his body turned heavy, if he didn't swim he would sink, not float. He fought with the last strength within him and his hand was the first thing to reach the air. He caught something cold and hard and pulled himself up. A massive breath invaded his lungs, filled him with life again and the first thing that came to mind was Hamish. His little head rested on his shoulder, lips blue and water and blood dripping from his wet hair. Sherlock had never been so scared.

"JOHN!" he shouted and coughed up all the water he accidentally swallowed. The salty water stung his eyes together with the cold and he heard John's voice shouting above him.

"Hold on! We're gonna pull you up." Then he saw the chain in his hand and he circled it around his arm, tightened his holding around Hamish's unconscious body and then there was pain. The chain cut into his skin, pulled it like a thousand needles and his body screamed to let go and for the first time he was really thankful for how good he was at overlooking his body's needs. With eyes tightly closed he emerged from the cold water, pulled into the icy wind and he and his son became heavy, he grunted in pain as he felt his skin being pulled from his arm when suddenly Hamish was taken out of his grip. Someone grabbed a hold of his coat and dragged him up on the pier and he landed on the floorboards with a loud shout as the chain left his arm. But pain was unimportant right now. Lifting his head he saw John leaning over Hamish, filling his lungs with air and Sherlock tossed himself over the deck to get to them. But his body was to frozen to be controlled, what was going to be a very swift and easy movement turned out to be very clumsy in this state and he fell as he tried to get up, ending with lying on his stomach beside them.  
"Hamish!?" he croaked and reached out a shaky hand to stoke his hair.

"Sherlock, get out of your coat." John ordered with a sharp voice as he pressed his hands to Hamish chest and started to pump. Right then Sherlock realised how badly this was and the panic he thought couldn't get any stronger took over completely.

"John." he breathed, all pain and cold had left him by now. All that was important was Hamish and seeing him lying lifeless before him hurt more than any wound on his body.

"Sherlock, get out of your coat!" John shouted and pressed his lips to his son's mouth again, blew in the warm air.

"JOHN! FIX HIM!" Sherlock shouted and didn't even notice how much he was shaking anymore. His life wasn't important, he wouldn't let John put his worries in him when Hamish was the one who needed it. Someone was pulling in his clothes and he was to weak to fight the hands touching him. Hamish jolted for every punch John directed to his heart, water and blood stained the wood under his head and for each second that passed Sherlock new that life was slipping away from his son.

"John." he quaked and took his boy's little hand, cold as ice and stiff like death. "For god's sake, fix him." He couldn't even shout anymore, he was to cold, to weak, to..

Hamish came back to the world with a jolt, water flowed out of his mouth and nose, a weak cough left him and Sherlock saw how John almost fell apart when their son took his first breath. Clothes was torn of the doctor and the child and landed in a wet a pile beside them. John pulled the boy into his naked chest and covered him in his own dry jacket, rubbed the poor boy to get some warmth back into him.

"There we go." he whimpered, still panicked. "Good, Hamish. Deep breaths, deep breaths."

He swayed back and forth where he sat with the cold child in his arms, looked at the pale face with blue lips and wet hair glued to his forehead. But the boy didn't tremble, he didn't shake of cold, he was hypothermic, in shock, possible concussion by the blow to the head.

John held him like a newborn, cradled to his naked chest, rocked him gently and listened to every breath that left his throat croaky throat.  
"Can you hear me, Hamish? Can you look at me?" A small cry left the boy and John had never been more happy to hear a sound come from him. Eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his father with unfocused eyes, pupils the same size. There wasn't any concussion then. "Good boy." he praised him and held him a little tighter, felt the cold take its impact on him too sitting here with open shirt with an ice cold body so close. "Move your finger and toes for me. Wiggle them as much as you can and don't stop."

He finally lifted his gaze and looked and Sherlock. Even he was stripped down, swaddled in and officers winter coat and Lestrade's arms around him, rubbing him while the detective's body quaked. At least he quaked, the grown man could handle the cold better than their little child. "You too, Sherlock. Wiggle toes and fingers." That's when he saw the blood flowing over the deck from where his husband was sitting. "Sherlock?"

"I'm okay." he said with a croaky voice. "How's Hamish?"

He looked down on the poor boy again and saw icicles stiffen his hair. What was he supposed to answer. This was bad, very bad.

"An ambulance is on it's way." Lestrade informed them as John untied the shoes on Hamish's feet and pulled them of. Wound his fingers around the small toes and saw how they'd turned blue.

"Come on, handsome. Wiggle your toes." he pleaded and blew some hot air onto his face. The blue-green eyes blinked, he didn't understand what John was talking about.

"I am." he whispered and John swallowed hard, he was to cold to move them.

"Good." he lied and nodded with a smile. "Silly me." But he held on to the still toes, did what he could to warm them up when sirens was heard in a distance. Help was coming. "You need to stay awake, love. Don't fall asleep. If you do, I will have dad tell you everything he knows about tobacco ashes again, and neither you nor me want that, okay?" To his relief, Hamish kept his eyes on him. "Good boy." He turned to Sherlock and Lestrade again saw his husband getting to tired to be worried about anything anymore. "Let's get moving, we need to get both of them into the ambulance as quick as possible. They need to get warm."

He got up from the deck and carried his son like he did the first time he held him, watching him like this was the most fragile thing in the world. He heard Sherlock moan in pain as Lestrade helped him on his feet, he wobbled where he stood and John hurried over to get a look at his arm. But Sherlock wasn't interested in care at the moment. Shaky pale hands reached out and he touched Hamish's cold face.

"What..t..t happened, hands.. s.. some?" he asked and the boy answered him with a hacking cough filled with left over salt water. "Did y.. y.. you slip?" He just blinked, to far away to understand what his fathers wanted from him, he just wanted to sleep. Just for a moment he drifted off, didn't understand how he could feel so warm after being in the cold water.

"Don't go to sleep, love." John ordered him and shook some energy back into him. Tried his best to sound more like a father than a doctor at the moment. "Stay awake. Come on." Hamish jolted in his arms and eyes shot open again, concentrated as well he could manage on his daddy.

"Listen to your daddy, handsome." Sherlock begged and stumbled back into the DI's arms and John gave their friend a sharp look.

"Help him to the ambulance." he begged him, still slightly relieved that Sherlock was at least feeling the cold. "Don't let him out of sight."

The way back to the parking lot was slow and painful. Sherlock could hardly move arms or legs any more, he could just imagine how Hamish was doing.  
An ambulance stopped by them and a middle-aged woman tossed herself out of her seat, a calming smile on her lips and John new by the first look than she was good with kids.

"Took a little tumble in the Thames?" she asked, her blond hair waving in the wind as she opened the backdoors. "Sorry, we're a little short on vehicles so we have to coop you up in the same." She turned and looked at the two soaked boys swaddled in jackets. "These your daddies, little one?" she asked as she leaned over Hamish who tiredly blinked in John's arms.

"Yeah." John interrupted, but secretly amazed of how she'd worked that out so quickly. "This is Hamish, hypothermic, suffered from cardiac arrest for a possible minute."

"Alright, let's get these two warm as quick as we can. You first, mister!" she looked at Sherlock and took his arm. "In you go." And the half naked detective stepped into the back if the van and fell down on the brits. John turned to Lestrade who nodded before he even had a chance to ask the question.

"I'll meet you at the hospital." he said and backed away as John jumped into the van, waving with a calm smile.

The woman was fuzzing around Sherlock, removing the rest of his clothes and that was the first time John had ever seen a woman get Sherlock naked. Well almost, boxers stayed on.

"Put Hamish in dad's arms, we'll warm 'em up together."

The detective shivered uncontrollably in the brits, nearly vibrating and teeth chattering in his skull. Arms flailing as he reached them out for receiving Hamish and John put him down in his lap. A big blanket was wrapped around them and a cable stuck out from one of the corners. John had never been so glad to see a heating blanket.

"It's gonna get warm now, Hamish." John explained and fell down beside them as the ambulance took off. "Hold on to dad and you'll feel better soon."

"Some nice cups of hot chocolate is waiting for you at the hospital." the woman said and fuzzed around them both with towels and hot water bottles. "Everything to get you warm." John pulled Hamish's trousers of and grabbed his feet again, warmed them up as much as he could. "Are you with us little one?" He blinked tiredly and stared into Sherlock's heaving chest and felt his father's fingers stroke his hair. World was spinning, wherever he was it was starting to get cold. Very cold.

To his fathers relief he started to shiver, lightly at first but his grew harder for every second that passed. Soon, even his teeth started to chatter, he pressed his hand to Sherlock's chest and let out a painful whimper. A warm water bottle pressed to his stomach and a weak shout left his throat.

"I.. it's.. s.. s okay, Hamis.. s.. s.. sh." Sherlock stammered and cradled his head to his shoulder. "It's s.. s.. okay." Hamish answered him with a hacking cough and the woman pressed a stethoscope to his chest.

"Can you take a deep breath for me, little one?" She was given the same hacking cough and Sherlock looked up John with big worried eyes and he knew at once that John had a clue what could be expected by all this. John placed his warm hands around his cheeks and rubbed them gently.

"Daddy?" he croaked, probably not noticing the woman hearing him, or not caring.  
"I'm here, love." John answered and saw how the woman started to take care of Sherlock's wounded arm. Usually he would have complained, not let anyone else than his own doctor take care of him, but right now it didn't matter who took care of his wounds as long as John took care of Hamish.

"W.. will he b.. be alright?" he asked and stared at his husband who held the warm water bottle to Hamish's wheezing chest.

"Yes." he answered quickly and heard another hacking cough. "Do you hear that Hamish? You and dad will be alright."

"Daddy." he croaked again and cold tears started to fall down his cheeks. "I d..d.. don't like it w.. w..when Greg calls me Hay." Sherlock scoffed and pressed his lips to his temple, almost sobbing in relief when he heard him say that.

"None of us do." he trembled. "N.. none of us do."

* * *

Hamish laid swaddled in a heating-blanket on the hospital bed, Sherlock beside him with arms around his hurting body. Colours started to return to his skin, he could move fingers and toes again but he was still shaking of cold and coughing from the shock the water had given his lungs.

"Here love." John whispered and held out the cup of hot chocolate. "Take a sip of this and your stomach will be warm in no time." He lifted his head and swallowed a mouthful, groaning as it travelled down his hurting throat but it was nice. Not the cheap chocolate from the cafeteria but catered chocolate from some expensive café, Mycroft's doing of course. That man had done everything he could do make their visit comfortable. Private room, the best doctors and done of the rubbery microwave food. No, uncle Mycroft was spoiling them good.

But Hamish was in a bad state, the horrible cold he'd gone through was now showing signs on a upcoming pneumonia and the doctors did all they could for it not to reach full capacity. Sherlock on the other hand was fine, warmed up and arm stitched twelve times. Right now dressed in a hospital gown with a bleak blue robe around his shoulders, waiting for Lestrade to bring them some new clothes from home since this was the ugliest outfit he'd ever worn.

"It's really cold." Hamish whined and Sherlock squeezed his hands in his. "Why isn't it getting warmer."

"It is." John told him and felt his forehead, still to cold and clammy. "We just have to do it slowly or you'll go into shock. But try to get some rest."

Sherlock crawled a little closer to the small boy and buried his nose in the short hair. He was so pleased that his little son was going to be alright and he would not let him go for a long time now, he was not letting him out of sight again.

"What happened, Hamish?" John asked and lifted the hair covering the small wound. No stitches, just taped up and blood drying into a scab.

"I slipped." he stammered and coughed again, it was a painful cough, tearing his throat and chest. "I wanted to see where she was found and I didn't notice the ice on the railing. Then.. " He looked up at John when he started to remember, and he did not look happy. "You hit me. In the chest!" John smirked and kissed his temple, nuzzled his face and closed his eyes.

"I know, I'm sorry about that." he sighed and took his little hand to kiss the fingers. "But you, on the other hand, scared us to..." he was about to say death but he swallowed the word, but it still found its way out in the air.

"Death?" Sherlock finished for him and John bit down hard.

"Yeah..." he groaned and and lowered his gaze. "Not.. the word I was searching for." Yet, Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to his sons temple as a small forgiveness.

"Well, you scared us, handsome." he whispered, still a bit croaky. "And you know I don't scare easily." Another painful cough tore through the room and John massaged his chest through the blanket.

"D'you hear that Hamish. You scared dad." he smirked when there was a knock on the door. It cracked open and Lestrade put his grey head in.

"Hello!" he greeted them and stepped in with the bag over his shoulder. "How's the little rascal?" He made his way over to the bed, dropped the bag to the floor and leaned to the bed railing. "You okay there?" Another hacking cough and John kept rubbing his ribs.

"We're fighting a upcoming pneumonia." he answered him and Lestrade roamed the scene. Sherlock crawled up in bed, arms wrapped around the little boy and John sitting on the bedside, just holding hands, he'd never seen this family so.. cuddly before. "But, he'll be okay in a week." The DI nodded worriedly but kept the smiles on his lips as he watched the swaddled boy.

"Make sure to boss your fathers around there Hay. They'll do anything for you right now." Hamish smiled and the warmth started to find him again, and with that came the sleepiness. "Met your cat by the way. Cute little thing. What's his name." John opened his mouth to answer when a small voice was heard from the bed, hoarse, but still loud enough for Greg to hear.

"Boe." Hamish answered the DI whose jaw dropped. He quickly closed it, but opened it again to talk but he didn't know what words he would choose to continue this conversation without sounding stupid, and he didn't want to sound stupid in front of the detective. "His name is Boe."

John grasped his hand a little tighter and bit down on his lips so he wouldn't smile ridiculously. This was a big step, a very big step and he kissed his fingers again. Proud filling him and eating all the fear that had cooped up his body for the last hour. Hamish was making progress, and he could not wait to see the faces on all the people who heard Hamish's voice for the first time.

"Boe?" Lestrade said after a long moment of silence. "Like 'the face of Boe' in Doctor Who?"

"Yes." Hamish answered him and blinked tiredly, still trembling massively. "But Boe is just Boe."

Sherlock sighed loudly and pressed another kiss to his temple, decided that this was the perfect time to come clean.

"I do like Boe." he said honestly. "He's... interesting. He can really stretch!" John laughed at the last part and gave Hamish some more of the chocolate. "Have you seen him, his back got five inches longer this morning. Are they supposed to do that or is something wrong with him?" The boy laughed but regretted it quickly as it started the awful coughing again. The next breath entering his lungs wheezed and John placed a hand under his neck to tilt his head back. The wheezing stopped and Sherlock saw the smile disappear from his husband lips and that scared him more than the sound that Hamish just made. But he didn't ask, he knew that if he started questioning John, Hamish would be the next one to worry.

"I'm gonna ask the doctor for a tank." John said and stood up, just making Sherlock more worried. "I'll be back in a minute." Once again Hamish coughed and crawled a little closer to his dad who instinctively held him tighter.

"Greg." the boy croaked and the DI walked around the bed to get closer to him, leaned over to see his face as he was, for the first time, talking to him.

"Yes, Hay?" Hamish managed to smile when he heard him and shot him a look.

"I don't like it when you call me Hay." he explained and Greg chuckled happily.

"Well, is it okay if I call you pocket-Holmes then?"

Hamish seemed to consider that for a moment, nibbling his bottom lip as he let his mind work.

"I guess so." he said after a while and giggled painfully. "It's better."

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**Thank you so much for earlier review, you are so kind. Keep 'em coming! **


	15. T-rexes and a troubled detective

**THank you for earlier reviews!  
I thought I could ask if there's something you want me to write about in this fiction? Please, come with some suggestions! **

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Sherlock inspected the boy while both he and John was sleeping. Those tubes in his nostrils had sent shivers down his spine when they were plugged into his sons face, but he knew that they helped him breath properly. Skin was still pale, clammy and hot. Hamish was fighting a fever that got higher for each hour. But the doctors said it was good, that it burned out the pneumonia that threatened his lungs at the moments.

He played with the dark hair on his head, watched carefully as his chest moved. He took his pulse by holding his hand not letting a single second pass without being completely sure that his son was alive. Those few seconds on the pier had been the worst seconds of his life. Seeing Hamish lying lifeless on his back with a vessel going colder he really thought that this was the end for him. What would life be if Hamish disappeared from it? What would Sherlock and John be without him?

He turned his gaze to John who laid on his stomach on the sofa, drooling on the pillow and softly snoring. What would John have done if it was to late to save their boy?

Sherlock's mind was travelling to deep in these thoughts and he didn't notice the time pass, he didn't notice the nurses walking in and checking Hamish's vitals and he didn't notice the sun rise over the rooftops. Thought of how life would be without his son was all around him and the world outside his head was black at the moment. If Hamish had died, what would they had done with his room? Had they kept his toys, bed, clothes? Had they thrown it away as quickly as possible as an attempt to forget? Would John's nightmares start again? Would they leave each other?

John woke up on the hard cushions and forced his eyes open in the bright light. The first thing he saw was Hamish on the bed, tubes in his nose and arm and tucked in under the thick cover. Then he saw Sherlock, staring into nothingness and a line, that was proof if him being deep down in thinking, between his brows.

"Sherlock?" he asked and sat up on the sofa, saw the detective's arms hugging his own body like he was in deep pain. He knew what he was thinking about and he needed to snap out of it before he dug to deep. "Sherlock?" He hurried over the plastic floor that squeaked by the contact of his shoes and cupped his husband's face. "Love? Where are you?" There was no reaction from him, not a glance, not a blink. "Sherlock?" He stroke his cheek and moved the curls put of his eyes, watched as tears started to well up. The detective suddenly closed his eyes, tears fell down his cheeks and his face bundles up into an expression of pure pain and John pulled him into his warm embrace. His first little sob was muffled by the doctors shoulder and John held him tightly.

"What would we have done, John?" he asked with a low voice, like he was afraid to ask the question that haunted his mind. "What would we become without him?" The doctor cradled his head to his shoulder and let him cry out some of the fear that been cooped up in him for hours now before he opened his mouth to speak.  
"You saved him Sherlock." he whispered. "You didn't let death take him. Not today."

"I didn't save him." he growled and swallowed hard. "I should never have let him fall in the first place." John managed to chuckle and kissed his temple, he knew that his husband would blame himself eventually.

"And what would you have done?" he asked. "Put him on a leach? There was you, me and ten officers on that pier and none of us notices him leave our side. These things happens Sherlock." Sherlock gave up a grunt and nailed himself to John's shirt. He didn't know the answers to that question.  
"Maybe to normal folks." he fumed and sniffled. "But I should have noticed." Another sob fled his lips and John hushed him gently. "I should have noticed. I should..." He cleared his throat and turned his head to John's neck took a deep breath of the sent that hid there. "What would we have done, John. What would we do without Hamish?" John sighed loudly and stroke his back, he didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to think about that.

"I don't know Sherlock." he answered. "Because I don't think about those things as long as Hamish is with us. If, and I say if, the day would come when he leaves us, then would those thoughts be important. But not now. So don't think that, Sherlock. Please." His husband groaned and wound his arms around his neck, John was right. Hamish was still here, alive and here he sat crying over something that never happened. He lifted his head and looked at the sick boy on the bed.

"When can we take him home? It's hateful to see him like this."

"I know." John whispered and sat down in his lap. "He'll be able to leave soon." Sherlock held him tightly and leaned to his head to his chest, took a deep breath of his scent. "He's a strong little boy."

The next second Hamish's shoulder twitched and his head fell to the side on the fluffy pillow. A horrible cough left him and John tossed himself to the bed to place a hand behind his neck when the wheezing breathing started.

"It's okay." he whispered softly when he saw his son panic of that something usually so simple suddenly was so hard. "Deep breaths. Come on." Tears started to fall and Sherlock appeared on the other side of the bed to hold his hand. Hamish opened his eyes and looked around the room to search for his fathers in his feverish state. Lungs sounded weak, the coughing painful and Sherlock closed in on his side and kiss away the tears. He looked scared again.

The painful coughing came to an end and Hamish swallowed and blinked tiredly.

"Daddy?" he wailed and started to sob. He didn't like this way of waking up one bit.

"It's okay." John whispered and stroke his hair. "Don't worry. I know it's bad, but this is the down side about falling into cold water." He started hiccuping by the awful cries that teared through his sore throat.

"It hurts!" he cried and slammed his eyes shut. "Daddy, make it stop!" His little body twitched with every cough that left his chest and Sherlock looked up at John with panic written all over his face. He never wanted to see his son suffer like this.

"Call the nurse." John begged him and signed for the button on the wall. "He needs some painkillers." They heard the alarm start in the corridor the same moment as Sherlock pushed the button and the cries got louder i the room. John cradled his head and hushed him gently. The more he cried, the harder it was for him to breathe. "Calm down. It's okay. The pain will stop, I promise." Sherlock mimicked the massage to the boys chest that John did yesterday and squeezed his hand.

"Come on Hamish." the detective trembled. "Calm down. You're only making it worse." Quick footsteps echoed in the hallway and a young red haired nurse hurried into the room.

"Good morning." she sang and Sherlock wanted to murder that woman for looking so happy when his son was in the room, suffering in pain. "Let's ease that pain for you, Hamish." She popped up the cap of his IV and emptied a syringe into his hand. The pain eased quickly, but it didn't help the panic that made poor Hamish toss back and forth in bed. He did not like this on bit.

"Hamish!" John called out and cupped his shoulders. "Please love, look at me!" He screamed and grunted, wanted to leave this place right in this second, didn't understand why he was here.

"Stop it!" he shouted and clenched his teeth. "Stop it!"

"Hamish!" Sherlock stroke his hair and tried to get caught in his gaze but the boy was delusional. Fever had taken over his mind. "Please Hamish. It's okay! We've got you!" He finally locked eyes with Sherlock, stared into the dept of the blue-green colours and reached out his shaking arms, begging to be picked up and Sherlock leaned over him to press him to his chest. The boy buried his face in the crock of him neck and let out a loud shout of pure fear.

"It's okay." the frightened father whispered and stroke his hair. "There's nothing to be scared of."

"It hurt when I breath!" he shouted and coughed painfully. "Make it stop." Sherlock didn't know what to do, he couldn't help, John couldn't help and it pained him greatly to see his small boy suffer. The nurse checked his vitals and increased the dosage of morphine that blended with the IV.

"It will stop soon, little one. Don't worry."

"Deep breaths, love." John murmured and kissed his temple. "It's about to go away." He coughed loudly again, a raspy cough filled with fluids John pushed Sherlock out of the way so he could help Hamish sit up. Green mucus dripped into the basin and Hamish whimpered by the sudden change of position.

"Dad!" he wailed and spat. A shiver travelled down his spine and Sherlock sat down beside him and held him to his chest. The foul taste turned his stomach painfully and he puked silently into the bowl. "I'm dizzy." he cried and his head fell back to Sherlock's shoulder.

"I know, handsome." he whispered and stroke his damp hair out of his face. "It's hateful being sick, isn't it?" They wound the blankets tighter around him, avoided all the tubes and needles before Sherlock scooped him up. He gently rocked him in his arms, stroke his cheek and John couldn't help the smile twitching the corners of his lips. Sherlock was holding him like the infant he once was, looking at him with the same loving eyes.

"Go back to sleep." he whispered and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was clammy, burning and pale, Hamish had never been this ill. "We'll be here." John hurried over to the sink and filled a paper cup with water, found a package of straws on the counter and returned to the bed.

"Here you go, love." he murmured and tickled his lips with the straw. "Some cold water." One sip was all it took for him to have another fit of coughing, the liquid burned all the way down his throat and John hushed him gently while he fought the pain. "I know it hurts, but you need it."

"I can't." he cried and pressed his cheek to Sherlock's chest. "Don't make me." John bit his lip and sighed.

"Okay." he whispered and stroke his hair. "We can try later."

Hamish went back to sleep in Sherlock's arms, whimpering in his sleep and cooing in his dreams. The detective took a deep breath before he asked the question that had hunted his mind for a long time now.

"Can this kill him?" John twitched by his side where he sat on the bedside, holding Hamish's little feet that still was cold as ice.

"Don't speak like that." he warned and knitted his eyebrows together. "Please don't." But Sherlock shook his head, he needed to know.

"Can it?" John was silent for a moment.

"We won't let him." he answered and placed his head on Sherlock's thin shoulder. "So it wont happen." Then they were silent. Just watched the boy sleep, listened to him mumble in his sleep and his body tremble. Time passed quickly and Sherlock started to notice how much his little son had grown since the first time he held him. One again he found himself examine every crease in his hand, noticing everything that had changed since he was a newborn. He noticed how much his hair had darkened, how his eyelashes had grown longer and thicker, the features in his face was sharper just like his own. He really was a handsome boy.

"What are you smiling about?" John asked him with a tired chuckle and placed his arms around his shoulders. Sherlock snickered and traced a finger over his boy's jaw.

"He just looks so grown-up." he smiled and kissed his little fingers. "He looks more like me for every day."

"He really does." John laughed and touched the hair on his head. "He's getting more and more handsome."

"He already is." the detective said and bowed his head, pressed his lips to his forehead and sighed loudly. "We're very lucky to have him." Those were words John never thought he would hear his husband speak. He had never been modest about human relations. It glad him to hear Sherlock speak so wonderful about their son.

"We truly are."

* * *

An hour before visiting time was over Greg stepped in through the door, carrying their dinners and Sherlock groaned loudly when he saw the pizza-boxes.

"Oh good lord." he hissed. "Junk food?" But Hamish seemed perfectly happy with that. It wasn't very often pizza was served in their household. Just once, and that's when he was left alone with Molly at the morgue for two hours. She ordered him lunch when she heard his stomach growl, by then he had been hungry for a long time but he didn't tell her how much he even wanted to. He liked Molly.

"I like pizza." he murmured with a croaky throat and Sherlock pursed his lips. "But I'm not hungry."

"Who ever fed you with pizza?" he asked and Hamish just smiled, to tired to laugh.  
"I'm not telling you." he answered and breathed in the smell of the food.

"Do you think you could manage to eat a small bite?" John asked and picked up his wallet to pay the nice DI but Greg just shook his head.

"Oh don't be silly." he smiled and tossed his coat over the chair. "I've got money of my own." He turned to the boy still swaddled in blankets on the bed and even a hat pulled over his ears. "Feeling any better?"

"Worse." Hamish corrected painfully and coughed, but just the sound of his voice put a smile on Greg's lips.

"His fever's going up and down." John explained and pressed the oxygen mask to his face when the levels changed on the pulse ox machine. "He'll probably be here for two more nights." Hamish made a tired grunt when he heard that and scratched the tape on his face that held the tubes on place.

"Well." Greg sang and placed his bag on the table before poking around in its compartments. "I got you this." A dark green, plastic dinosaur emerged from the bag and flew through the air in his grip with a animalistic roar that made Hamish frown. He wasn't used to see grownups acting so childish but it still made him smile when he saw Greg do it. The beast landed beside him in the bed and its open jaws nibbled his ear underneath the hat and he laughed.

"Stop it." he croaked and pulled away. The DI chuckled and put it in his hands. "Thanks."

"Do you know what species it is?" he asked and showed him that the tale could wiggle.

"Obviously its a t-rex." he croaked and touched the plastic teeth with a shaky finger. " Sherlock scoffed when he saw the toy but didn't say anything about it, he had never been a fan of extinct beasts. They had no importance now a days.

"So, when are you planning to get better pocket-Holmes?" Greg continued and put on his parental roll and tucked the cover a little tighter around the boy, his own girls had grown up a long time ago and he missed these sorts of things more than anyone could know.

"As quickly as possible." he mumbled and looked up at him with those big eyes that could make anyone melt. "Why? Is the case confusing you without our help?" Once again Sherlock scoffed, but this time at his sons comment. Even the DI laughed and brushed away the strands of hair peeking out under the edge of the hat and felt Hamish's burning skin.

"Of course. I'm helpless without my Holmes's close by." he answered and heard the awful cough tearing through the child throat. The sound of it made the old man ache of sympathy and he bit down hard so he would squeak. "You poor tosser. I hope this doesn't hold on to you too long."

Hamish whimpered and looked miserable very quickly after the painful fit and turned his head.

"Daddy?" he croaked and his eyes went shiny by tears. His father hurried to the bed just in time before he started coughing again and John turned on the oxygen tank.

"Here." he murmured and held the mask before his face, but Hamish was scared of the thing. He might be intelligent for his age, but he was still a four-year-old. With weak arms he pushed it away but continued to fight for his breath. "It will help you, love." John stroke his cheek calmingly but his son started to cry in panic and shook his head. He didn't like it.

"Hamish." Greg called and took the mask out of John's hand and pressed it to his own face, took a couple of deep breaths. Tears fell down the boy's face and he coughed painfully again while watching him. After a moment he looked somewhat calmer, but still in massive pain, lungs was failing him greatly and he feared something people his age should never fear. Death.

"If I can do it, so can you." Greg said with a smiled and put the mask in Hamish's weak hand. "Come on. I will help you. Promise."

The four-year-old guided the mask to his face with John's help and he kept his eyes on Greg, ready to pierce him with the look of death if he was lying. But it did help, his breathe turned from whimper into calm, long breaths. His throat cleared and lungs filled to the brim with oxygen leaving him exhausted on the bed.

"There you go." John whispered and kissed his little hand. "Not so bad after all, was it?"

"It's hateful." he croaked into the mask and Greg snickered when he saw his eyes slowly drift shut. It was only a matter of seconds before he was asleep again and John could finally strap the mask to his face so he could breathe properly during the time he rested.

"Ruth screamed like a manic when she was having he tonsils removed." Greg explained. "She just wouldn't breath in that damn narcosis so I had to do it first, then she did it. I wobbled out of that room like a damn drunkard." He laughed at the last bit and John just chuckled.

"I wish I could see that." he said and Sherlock turned in the chair.

"We did a couple of weeks ago." he said and surprised the both by holding a piece of pizza in his hand. "Don't you remember? You walked John home after that bar round and none of you could use your legs properly." Greg twitched and looked up at John again.

"I walked you home?" he asked and John just shrugged with a marvelled face.

"I actually can't remember." And Sherlock scoffed for the third time before grabbing another piece out of the box.

"You don't like pizza." Greg said and moved over to dig in as well.

"I also don't like hospitals, but here we are." the detective answered and gave John a slight kick in the shin. "John, you need to eat. You've been peckish for hours and I'm done with your complaining."

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**More reviews are always welcome. Tell me what you think! **


	16. Cold baths and massaging cats

**I know it's been like ages since I updated, but I've been putting most of my time on my new crime!fic 'Hamish, the invisible boy' another parentlock of mine. Make sure to check it out. **

**But anyway, here's a new chapter for you, hope you enjoy.**

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Three days later Hamish was released from the hospital. A fever was still bothering him and he slept all the way home in the cab leaning against Sherlock who continuously stroke his hair. John held his little hand his his, massaged his fingers with still blue nails. It was a permit, nothing more. If his lungs would react negatively to his homecoming he would go straight back to the hospital bed with the tubes in his nose. But John took his precautions, the day before the resignation he'd brought home a gas tank just in case. He knew more than well how quickly an pneumonia could take a turn for the worse and Hamish needed all the oxygen he could get in that case.

Sherlock picked the boy up in his arms and held him tight to his chest as he stepped out of the car and felt every little breath to the skin of his neck, it was like an insurance to feel them, a sign of the little life that the boy fought to keep inside him. The detective wobbled back and forth on the short stairs and waited for his husband to unlock the door when Hamish made his first sound in a long time. The cough tore through his throat and he stroke his back where he stood, felt every cramp and spasm through his little body. This cold air did him no good in this state.

"Dad?" he croaked and tightened his grip around the curls between his short fingers.

"I know, handsome." he whispered and hurried through the door as John held it open. "But look, we're home now." Hamish lifted his heavy head and stared out over the hall like this place was unknown to him, his blue eyes glistened in the soft gloom and his blushing cheeks burn against his father's cheek. This state he was in was not at all recommended for a homecoming. But both his parents thought he would make a much quicker recovery in a place where he felt more home. The doctor and the detective was ready to take the responsibility necessary to take care of their own son without the awful hospital-environment surrounding them.

He gave a second raspy cough as they climbed the stairs, one that could cut the fragile flesh inside his throat and the pain brought tears to his eyes once more. It seemed like he didn't do much more than cry these days, but what else could he do? Body was weak and burning, he felt useless and robbed of his vessel, he was ashamed of himself.

Sherlock plopped down in his armchair with the boy still pressed to his chest and started to pull his small clothes. As soon as they hit the floor and the boy shivered in nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of sweat-pants, Sherlock wound the big blanket around him that fitted around his small body more than once. The warmth was more than welcome and when his father finally put his arms around him again he couldn't do much more than just sleep and hope that his coughing would take a break for an hours or two.

Sherlock stroke the dark hair out of the boy's clammy face and watched him as he slept against his shoulder. He looked swollen and beaten, a side effect from the medication he was on. Sherlock hardly recognised him, he looked half his age a least. The chubby baby he once was and all the detective could to was trace those puffy cheeks with one of his slender finger and sigh. It didn't matter how real this situation they're in was, he would never fully believe it.

Boe then made his entrance, he meowed loudly and toke a trip around John's legs, pressed himself to the jeans and spread his scent to get rid of the horrible detergent smell of hospital. The black fur tainted the blue jeans and John bowed to pick him up.

"Boe?" Hamish croaked and opened his eyes again. "Where's Boe?" John made his way over to the chairs and Sherlock unfolded the blanket to let the cat rest upon the boy's heaving chest. The cat didn't protest but collapsed as the warmth of his owner and the blanket came over him and Hamish swaddled the both and held the animal. He stroke its fur, let the cat press his forehead to his hands and he smiled happily.

"Did you miss him?" Sherlock murmured with a voice coming from somewhere deep down in his chest and Hamish blinked tiredly when he felt the vibrations. All he could do was nod, of course he had. His own cat, little Boe that he'd saved from the hostile shrubbery and his experimental father. There was no words that could explain how much he's missed this little black demon as his father called him.

He petted his gently and the wet nose came in contact with his chin, made him tremble again and the cat started to press his paws to his chest in a painful, but relaxing, massage that helped his hurting lungs. What an intelligent cat he owned.

"Ho-ho?" There was a slight knock on their door and Sherlock tore his gaze from his son's face and looked up at the woman dressed his pink in the doorway, clutching a tray of homemade cookies in the wrinkly hands. Even Boe smelled the air as it was filled the the scent of sweat oatmeal and raisins, but Hamish didn't. The sleepiness was all over him and there was nothing that could save him from it. He didn't even notice the questions that was directed to him until Sherlock shook his shoulder lightly.

"Handsome? D'you think you could handle a cookie?"

'No' was he wanted to answer, but he knew that if he opened his mouth nothing more than coughing would escape his sore throat, so he just shook his head and returned to stroking Boe's velvety fur.

"Sugar would do you some good." John insisted and placed the cookie in his trembling hand. "Just nibble it, okay? You like granny's cookies." He did, and he always had. He stared at the sweet and saw the crusty brown edges and chewy middle, it did look tempting. As soon as he sank his teeth into it he realised how hungry he'd actually been these last couple of hours and his stomach made an intimidating growl, nearly threatening and the sweetness of the cookies danced on his tongue that hadn't met food for ages it seemed.

"D'you want some milk?" Sherlock asked in a weak whisper and saw the boy nod. "John?"

"Of course." John chimed and carried a smile that brightened his face's complexion, just happy to see his son eating on his own again even if it wasn't more than simple sweets. He disappeared into the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson made her way over to the two boys in the chair.

"Oh, Hay. If you only knew hat a mouthful your little kitty has been." she chirped and placed a hand on top of his head, played with the dark strands of hair that had formed a birds nest. "He sneaked out of the flat the other day and made his way into my place." Hamish just smiled and tried not to giggle. "I think you two are perfect for each other."

"He needs someone to look after him." he croaked and closed his eyes as his head fell to his father's shoulder. "I can't do it while I'm sick."

"We'll all be here to look after you both." John whispered and held the glass under his runny nose. "Milk, love?" He took a sip while John held it for him and the creamy taste sent sparks up his brain. That IV had't given him much more that nutrition. He would never understand how his father could go so many days without a single bite.

"I need to sleep." he moaned and wiped his lips with the blanket.

"Please do." Sherlock murmured and held him a little tighter and that's when Hamish understood. This is where he was going to sleep, right here in his father's arms just like when he was a infant. His father would not let him go now when he had him again, and he finally relaxed, made himself comfortable in the boney arms and placed his head heavily upon the pointy shoulder. Then he slept again, let go of the stressful world around him and let the darkness overcome his mind.

* * *

The detective didn't let go of the boy once he had him. He sat in the chair, stared out over the room and sometimes he inspected his son, took his temperature and breathing and smothered the wild hair that hadn't been washed for days. He remembered that John was sick enough to scare him. It was his appendicitis that was about to burst and his doctor had staggered around in the flat, popping pills but hurled them up a second later and his pain only grew until he fainted in the kitchen. Sherlock remember himself pulling his hair, the rest was just a wild blur and he could remember who or how he got John to the hospital, but he knew it went fast.

This time he felt worse, this was something he could have stopped, he should never let his concentration go to deep to forget about Hamish. It still felt like his doing, his fault that his son was now fighting pains and discomfort.

John hurried across the floor and put a steaming cup of tea in the side table beside the tray of cookies and then caressed Hamish's cheek with his warm hand while smiling. Then he fell down in his own chair across from the carpet and sipped from his cup.

"I don't think I've seen you two so close since he was born." he smiled and grabbed his third cookie for today. Then he saw the blanket move over their son's chest and he chuckled. "Is Boe still in there?" Sherlock just nodded, but this time with a warm smile on his heart shaped lips.

"He's not left his side since we got home." he answered secretly amazed of the connection those two actually had. Maybe this was why people enjoyed having pets as company so much, they were loyal and caring. Maybe Boe tried to repay the favour, a life for a life.

"They really like each other." the doctor grinned and kicked off his shoes. "I know you don't like pets but I think you have to get used to this one."

"I already have." Sherlock murmured and touched the little nose sticking out of the fluffy blanket. "They're perfect for each other it seems."

"How old d'you think he is?"  
"You're asking me?" Sherlock frowned and saw the cat yawn and squirming out of the boy's grip. It stretched in that way that always would amaze the detective and it jumped to the floor with its broken leg still in that weird angle.

"You're the detective."

"You're the doctor. I think you're more capable of answering that question."

"Dad?" The croaking voice sounded from the blanket and Sherlock turned his gaze to Hamish's pale face. "Where did Boe go?"

"He took a trip to the kitchen." he answered and circled his ear with one of his fingers. "He might come back. Are you hungry?" He swallowed and shook his head.

"I want to take a bath."

"That sound like a good idea." John chimed and put away his cup. "Wash that hospital filth away. Let's bring the tank as well incase the water gives you a shock."

Sherlock heaved himself up from the chair and carried the cocoon of a boy through the flat and into the bathroom, he didn't open his eyes once during the short trip and as they reached the room he realised he had to take his clothes off. Just the thought of it made him shiver.

"I'm not gonna bring it to hot." John explained and turned on the water. "Just enough so your fever wont get higher, okay?" Sherlock placed him in the counter and unfolded the thick blanket around him, he trembled violently when he pulled the shirt off him and in pained both his parents to see him like this. He gave a strangle cry when the could came over him and he lost control of his own body into trembling and Sherlock cradled his head to his chest and felt the tears soaking his shirt.

"Hey." he mumbled and kissed his temple. "We're getting you into the water now, okay? Are you ready?" He just nodded and pinned himself a little harder to Sherlock's shoulders and he lifted the naked boy off the counter. "Feet goes first." he warned as he leaned over the water and brought him down. A second cry slipped over his lips as the water reached him.

"It's cold!" he shrieked and tried to pull himself up in his father's arms again.

"It's not cold, it's perfectly warm."  
"It's cold!" the boy persisted and sobbed loudly into the crock of his neck.

"I'll hold you." Sherlock promised and stepped into the bathtub, the water soaked his clothes as he sat down and cradled his son to his chest. "Better?" Hamish neither answered or complained, just sobbed and John fell to his knees by the edge.

"Hamish?" he asked and cupped his hands under the surface and poured the hot water over his head. "There's nothing to be scared of okay?" He was on the edge of being delirious with this fever boiling under his skin and he had intentionally poured nothing warmer than lukewarm water into the tub, they needed to lower it before it went to high and they needed to bring him back to were they just came from. "Let's wash that nest of yours."

The room was soon to be filled by the smell of mint as they washed his dirty hair and Hamish took deep breaths of the smell, let it calm him a bit since this reminded him of home where everything was familiar and safe, and soon enough the world started to get clearer around him. The dizziness eased and his limbs hurt less for each second, but he was still cold, shivering violently.

"Hamish?" his soaked father behind him asked and he opened his eyes again, saw his doctor of a father observing him worriedly as he washed the soap off his skin. "Are you still with us?" The boy took a deep breath and felt the tears still falling.

"It hurts to breathe again." he moaned and shut his eyes hard. "It burns in my chest."  
"I'm gonna let you sleep with the oxygen mask in later, okay? Just like at the hospital."

"Do I have to?" he asked sadly and John saw his bottom lip tremble as he held back the sobs.

"It wont hurt to breathe with that on." he explained and washed his little blue hands. "It's for your own good, okay?" Hamish sniffled and nodded, grabbed a hold of Sherlock's wet trousers and bundled up his face in a painful grimace.

"I wanna get out." he cried and Sherlock wound his arms around him to pick him up. The doctor made himself ready with a towel and Sherlock passed him over to his arms, kissed his face multiple times as he dried him.

"It's okay, love." he whispered and rubbed his skin. "Just a few more days and then you will be your normal self again."

"I wanna be my normal self now." he sobbed and took a deep rough breath. "I don't like this."

"I know." John murmured and saw his husband step out of his wet clothes. "But what can we do, huh? Just lots and lots of hot chocolate and sweets and it will finally pass. But for now, let's get you into a pyjamas and put you down on the sofa. We'll watch some cartoons, okay?"

Hamish nodded with is head buried in the soft towel. That sounded like a good idea.

* * *

**As always, feel free to leave a review, they will always brighten my day. **


	17. I, a bean?

**THis is a short chapter, but it might (or might not) reveal what will happen in upcoming chapter, or not (or maybe**)

* * *

Two days later Hamish laid curled up in Sherlock's arms watching the lion king while sipping his hot chocolate. Not the chocolate made from a box, but real chocolate made by real indigences and whipped cream on top that always seemed to stick to the tip of his nose and give him him a white moustache on his top lip. He always closed his eyes when the hyenas attacked the lion cliff, the fire and wild animals always gave him chills and in earlier years even nightmares, sometimes they even skipped the end. But this day he kept one eye open as Scar tried to throw Simba off the cliff, it didn't bother him and he sipped his chocolate without a care in the world it seemed.

"Hello!?" John called as he entered the flat after a particular long day at the clinic, heavy grocery bags in each hand and red rimmed eyes of tiredness. But as always a big smile brightened his face as he came home. A good man, Sherlock always thought, never brought home the problems from his day but left them at work, but he was obliged to ask.

"How was your day?" he murmured while watching the lion roar in the heavy rain.

"Hellish." he answered and left the conversation there. He never talked about his work in front of Hamish if it had been hellish. "Have you eaten?"

"Just hot chocolate." Sherlock answered and wiped the spot of cream from Hamish's nose with his fingers and licked it clean. "Are you hungry, handsome?" He shook his head and yawned big and loudly before he returned to his chocolate. "I think we're fine over here."

"How you been today, Hamish?" John asked from the kitchen and put the heavy bags on the table before returning to the sitting room, clothes twisted and turned on his body like he'd dressed in a hurry.

"Better." Hamish croaked and sniffled. "Dad's better at taking care of me now." Sherlock smirked and kissed his still hot forehead and Hamish giggled happily and dug his hand into his curls. "Dad?"

"Yes, handsome." Sherlock answered and tucked his hair behind the ear, he really needed a haircut.

"May I wish something for my birthday?" he asked tiredly and Sherlock snickered.

"Of course so may." he said and placed his big hand upon his chest, rubbed it back and forth over the ribs that poked out of his skin. He's lost many pounds during these sick weeks. Hamish blinked and tore his gaze from the telly, watched his father with a warm gaze and smiled.

"A baby sister."

Sherlock choked by those words and found his mind blank for the first time in ages, he opened and closed his mouth several times to find the right words before he gave up and turned to the kitchen.

"John?" he called and thought about Hamish's wish. Another child? No. Why not? Crazy. Why was it crazy? He didn't know. "John?" His husband turned in the kitchen with his face split in the large yawn and Hamish laughed. "Hamish has a birthday wish." The doctor dragged himself across the floor and into the sitting room, eyes still half lidded and dark circles around his eyes, but he still smiled.

"Tell me." he begged and started to collect the dishes on the table in front of them.

"A baby sister." he croaked a second time and the plates rattled in John's hands as he heard those words.

"A what?" he exclaimed and felt his head go blank.

"A baby sister!" Hamish repeated, annoyed about his fathers unintelligence all of a sudden. "You know, a little pink human, just like us, just... a girl. There are enough boys inhabiting this flat already." John laughed and thought about what a second baby would do to this family. It would certainly not be a bad thing. It was just something he and Sherlock had never thought of. One child was the plan, no more than that.

"I don't know if we have room for another person in here." Sherlock said and furrowed his brow.

"I can share mine." Hamish said quickly and suddenly looked much more awake in his arms. "My room is big enough for two. I can have the left side, and she can have the right." The detective pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose as he thought hard about this.

Another child? Really? Could they? Should they? He turned to John who stared at him just as loving as when they first held Hamish. He was clearly thinking about it and Sherlock uttered a little laugh as they made a silent agreement with John just shrugging his shoulder.

"Why not." Sherlock smirked and his husband smiled from ear to ear by those words. "Let's look into it." The doctor lowered his head, felt his cheeks burn by blushing and a warm feeling started to grow in his stomach. Alright then. Another baby. The dishes fell back on the table as he hurried over to the couch to embrace the mad man who'd just promised their boy a sister. "Would you be terribly sad if it would be a brother?"

Hamish shook his head and giggled when he saw his parents hugging and kissing, it wasn't very often they did that in front of him and he heaved himself up to join them both.

"But it would be more fun with a sister." he said and John pressed his lips to his hot cheek and pulled him into the hug. "There are to many boys around here." Sherlock chuckled and kissed the top of his head.

"You're absolutely right." he smiled and moved him over to John's arms. "But, now it's daddy's turn to take care of you. I need to take a shower." And John gladly accepted the little boy into his embrace and hugged him hard.

"Oh, Hamish." he tutted when he felt how light he'd become. "You need to put on some weight soon or you'll disappear." The boy giggled and sipped the last of his chocolate. "Or maybe you'll start levitating and fly away from here if we aren't careful. You need to get some meat on those bones." he smiled and poked his slim limbs making him squirm and laugh.

"Stop it!" he shrieked and John took the empty cup out of his hand. "Dad! Help!"

"You're on your own now, handsome!" Sherlock called back and snuck around the corner into the kitchen.  
"No!" the boy screamed in staged anguish as John kept poking and tickling him. "Don't leave me!"

"Come here, you tosser." John smiled and peppered his face with kisses. "No-one's gonna save you now."

Both him and Sherlock had grown into the roll as a playful father now. Before, when Hamish was quiet, none of them really knew how to play with him since he never did much more than smile or giggle when they joked. But now for the first time in his life he could scream in laughter and the games turner more and more playful for each time. John loved what their family had become and cherished every moment when Hamish spoke and laughed. Even if four month had passed since his first words, it was still new to them and some morning he could wake up believing he'd imagined it all. Every greeting in the morning proved him wrong though. The best moments of the day would always be hearing Hamish tip toeing down the stairs and sneak into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawn 'Good morning' to them both. John would always fear that Hamish some day would fall back into silence, even if the odds were small.

And now, if it came true, there might just be another little child tip toeing their flat. A small girl or boy to teach all the things they'd already taught Hamish. A small child to 'suffer' through their raising and lipstick marks on the cheeks after visiting granny. Oh how Mrs. Hudson would adore a granddaughter.

"So why do you want a sibling all of a sudden?" he asked little Hamish who snuggled closer to his chest, smelled his aftershave that he'd missed all day and shrugged.

"I guess I wouldn't be so alone if I had one." he said and started to nibble his nails. "Not that I feel alone, but a sister would be fun. Someone to play with and I think we could extend our family so I don't need to be the worlds only consulting detective in the future."

"Hey." John giggled and braided their hands together. "If we're getting another baby, she's becoming a doctor. I can't handle to many detectives in the house." A joke of course, but also a secret wish he had. It would be good to have a child that wanted to learn something from him and not just from the detective in the flat. Not that he didn't feel useful in his family's presence, just sometimes he wished that Hamish and Sherlock could put some interest in his work as they did in Sherlock's.

"Where would she come from?" Hamish asked suddenly and played with one of the buttons on John's shirt, brows knitted together as he pondered about this mystery.

"What do you mean?" John asked and stroke his hair. "D'you mean what country or..."

"No." Hamish interrupted. "I mean, where would she come from?" And suddenly the boy looked utterly confused as he pulled his gaze from the button and looked up on John. "In fact, where do I come from?"

So it was time for the ultimate question. John needed to give him the answers he and Sherlock had discussed many times and something they both had feared. But now, being trapped in the moment of truth, John felt surprisingly calm. He smiled and kept stroking his hair.

"Well." he began and took a deep breath. "Before you were born I had a sister. Her name was Harry, short for Harriet." The boy frowned, looked very confused as he tried to understand. "She'd not with us anymore though, she got sick. Very sick. So sick that no one could save her."  
"Not even you?" Hamish asked and looked just as interested as when they read him nighttime stories.

"Not even me." John smiled. "But my sister was the best sister in the world, even your dad thinks she was the best woman who'd ever lived."

"Why?" Hamish couldn't imagine his dad adore a woman so much he thought she was the best who'd ever lived.  
"Because she helped us getting you into the world." John answered. They'd decided not to lie, truth must be told and Hamish would understand, he was a clever little boy. But they would decorate the truth just a bit, even if the boy was clever he was still only four. "Before she died she wanted to do something for me, and since two boys can't make a baby with each other she wanted to be the one to help us. So your dad gave her a small bean to plant in her belly where it grew big and strong and then, eight months and two weeks later, that bean was fully grown and turned into you, you were ready to meet the world and us."

The boy tilted his head and leaned it against his chest, took a deep breath as he tried to process the information.  
"But, you don't have a sister anymore..." he said and nibbled the inside of his cheek. "You have no one to plant the bean in this time." John smiled and saw the blue-green eyes fill up with doubt that his wishes to have a baby sister might never come true.

"Well, there are other ways to have a baby." he explained. "There are many babies in the word who doesn't have any parents at all and are just waiting for a daddy and dad to come and take care of them. To bring them home and raise them just like we've raised you." Hamish nodded but he didn't quite understand, John didn't blame him. The making of humanity would always be confusing to a young child.  
"But, if there already is babies who wants to be taken care of, why don't we get one today?"

"Well." John chuckled. "This is where it gets tricky. So lets leave that for another day, okay?"

"Why?" Hamish whined, eager to hear the story. "And why are they alone, didn't their daddy or dad want them?" This was a hard nut. There were much Hamish didn't understand about relationships. In his mind the only couples he'd seen was he and Sherlock. It wasn't surprising he didn't understand the other ways of love.

"It's more likely their mother couldn't take care of them." he finally answered. "You see, you always need a woman to make a baby, but all children doesn't have a mommy. Like you, you have two daddies. But some children have a mommy and daddy, and some have a mom and mommy."

Hamish started to get it and his eyes cleared.

"So, your sister was my mommy at first?" he asked and John pondered how to put this neatly.

"Yes, but no. She was more like a.. help-mommy." he said. "From the moment you were put in her belly, your dad became a dad, and I became a daddy. My sister was the help-mommy and when you were born, she became your aunt."  
"Oh." Hamish smiled. "So I have two daddies, two aunts, Clara and Molly, two uncles, Mycroft and Greg, and once I had a help-mommy who was an aunt, Harry."

"Precisely." John chuckled and kissed his nose. "You got it now."

"And if I get a baby sister, you'll be her daddies and the other will be the same her as they are to me?" John pondered that for a moment before he nodded.

"Yes." he said and laughed again. "Yes, two aunts, two uncles, and don't forget granny."

"Will she have a help-mommy."

"Yes." John answered and couldn't finally breath out as they both had come to a simple understanding. "Now you got it." And the boy seemed more than happy with the explanation. His short arms wound around John's neck and he pulled himself up to place a big kiss on his mouth.

"I'm glad you're my daddy." he said and John giggled and held him hard.

"And I'm glad you're my Hamish." he smiled and kissed him again.

"And I'm glad to be Sherlock!" Sherlock shouted from the kitchen and John bursted into laughter. That smug bastard.

* * *

**So here we are... (or are we?) Sorry, I'll stop messing with you, I'm just a little excited about this whole thing (or am I?) OF COURSE I AM! **

**Sorry, just leave a review and next chapter will be up shortly. **

**(...or will it?)**


	18. A present in black and white

**New chapter! Holy sweet lord of the rings! It's been a while hasn't it?**

**Hope you'll enjoy and next chapter will be up soon enough! **

* * *

As soon as Hamish laid wound in blankets in his bed, lightly snoring with the t-rex and skull safely placed on the bureau, watching over him as he slept, John sat down by the table with a cup of tea in his hand and searched the web. Six tabs was up with information about adoption and surrogacy and he found himself smiling when he started to realise what he was doing exactly. He tore his gaze from the bright screen and saw Sherlock on the other side of the table, mirroring him with a computer and a cup of tea.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a smile and shuffled his foot over the floor and bumped into the tip of Sherlock's slipper. The detective swallowed a mouth of tea and shook his head.

"You know, just.. looking up some recipes."

"Not on cakes and cookies I suppose." John smirked and managed to get the slipper off the large foot so he could feel the warm skin against his own but he stumbled into a nasty surprise. "Jesus christ, you're cold as death!" He kicked the slipper back. "Here, take this back on." Sherlock laughed and shoved his foot into the fluffy insides again. "You're sleeping with socks on tonight 'cause I'm not getting stabbed with those toes under the cover." Sherlock just kept on smiling, drinking his tea.

"Mould-growing." he suddenly said and John looked up from his screen again.

"What?"  
"You asked me what kind of recipes, moulds." The doctor shook his head and smirked.  
"Of course." he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You?" The air quickly disappeared from the room when they both realised that Sherlock already knew the answer to that. "So..." That dark voice reached into the deepest places of John and he shivered as Sherlock braided his fingers together and leaned his chin to his heaved up arms. The doctor was in love all over again.

"So.." he repeated and crossed his arms, looked over the computer at his husband who eyed him intensely. "Another child?" Sherlock gave him a crocked smile and raised an eyebrow. "This isn't as easy as buying a piano you know."

"I know." Sherlock answered him calmly, voice gone darker and vibrating. "A child is more intimate, isn't it? I must confess, these last couple of weeks, taking care of Hamish I... miss the feeling of holding a newborn." John bit back a smile, feeling more and more like he did when Sherlock proposed, giggly and warm and he wanted to savour it.

"And what does that feel like?" he asked and felt himself blush. His husband gave a small hum and rubbed his hands together.

"I don't need to explain, you've felt it yourself."

"You mean that warm cuddly feeling?" John asked. "When you just wanna crawl down in the cradle with it, bury your nose in the velvety hair, feel those little finger wound around you own." John wasn't the only one in the room blushing anymore.

"Exactly." he smiled and tried not to sound to embarrassed. "And I just don't want to imagine it anymore, I want it to happen."

The computer closed with a click and John raised from his chair and padded around the table. Sherlock turned in his chair and embraced him as he straddled his lap. John pecked his face with kisses and stroke his soft curls, smelled the oils and pine before he embraced him again.

"So a baby girl then?" he asked and shivered by the touch of Sherlock's hand on his neck.

"Hamish's right." he murmured. "There are to many boys inhabiting this flat." John chuckled and pressed his lips against his. "A little girl would be interesting. Not to mention wonderful."

"I have to say, Sherlock Holmes, I never saw you as a family-man." the doctor murmured into his parted lips.

"Neither did I." he answered and kissed John's jaw, huffed his hot breath to his skin. "But you, John Watson, turned me into one."

* * *

The day Hamish turned five rain was bombarding the streets like spears. But Hamish didn't care about the weather, nothing could pull him out of the spirit of being a year older. He didn't wait for his fathers to come wake him with breakfast in bed. No, he had decided to turn the tradition around. Five a.m Sherlock was pulled out of his sleep by a rattling tray and his boy singing.

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me..." and John started to giggle into his pillow.

"You're a real tosser, handsome." he yawned and rolled over on his back and stretched his back. The tray landed on the bureau by the window and Sherlock could just imagine what a mess the boy had made in the kitchen and what a horrible meal he could expect on that tray.

"Give me my gifts!" he suddenly shouted and jumped into the bed and landed between them, making the mattress sway and the boy bounced up and down.

"Now you're sounding spoiled!" John warned and Hamish laughed.

"It's my birthday! I'm supposed to be spoiled today!"

"Jesus christ." Sherlock groaned and pulled the boy down in the bed, cradled him to his chest and took a deep calming breath. "It's five a.m, handsome. I fell asleep two hours ago, I am not leaving this bed for at least three more. Now, go back to sleep."

"But I made you breakfast!" Hamish shouted, voice muffled by his father's chest. "Cereals and everything!"

"Did you poor in milk?"

"... no.."

"Then it can wait." Sherlock yawned and pulled the cover over them both. "You'll have your gifts shortly, but for now, more sleep." The boy groaned loudly and tossed and turned between them.

"Just one!" he begged and shook John by the arm. "Daddy, please!" With a loud tired moan, John grasped the little boy by the neck and pulled him down to his chest, hugged him hard and pecked his face with kisses.

"Happy birthday, love." he murmured and ruffled his short hair. "Finally five, huh? Almost old enough for a drivers licence." Hamish giggled and pulled at his t-shirt.

"Please daddy, just one little gift." he begged and cupped his father's face. "One tiny little gift, so I can go back to sleep again."

"You won't go back to sleep again." Sherlock murmured with his back facing them. "You'll only get more excited"

"Please!" Hamish continued. "Please, please, please!"

"No."

"PLEASE!" he whined and kicked John in the thigh. "Please! Just one!" Sherlock groaned and rolled over on his back, rubbed a hand over his face.

"Just give it to him." he sighed and Hamish was suddenly very alert.

"Yes! Yes! Give me a gift!" he shouted and John opened his eyes, glanced at Sherlock and reached out for his hand.  
"Really?" he asked and Sherlock squeezed his hand and nodded. Then John reached for the small envelope in the top drawer of his nightstand. It was bright white with a red seal and Hamish's name was beautifully written on the front. But the boy stared at it in disappointment.

"A letter?" he asked and studied the item in his hands. Sherlock crawled closer and John reached out his arm to pull him into his embrace, kissed his temple while Hamish rested on his chest. "Who's it from?" His fathers stayed quiet and the boy grew suspicious about this mysterious letter. He broke the red seal and pulled out the small piece of paper in black and white, only getting more confused as he stared at the outlines. "What is it?"

"Can't you tell?" Sherlock asked and stroke his fingers through his hair and smiled happily at his son's furrowed brow. He turned the picture over and shook his head. There were no words, nothing what so ever left in the envelope and he looked up at John.

"What is it?" John grinned and took his hand, kissed his fingers and sighed.

"It's a bean." he answered happily and the boy froze on his chest, flicked his gaze between his fathers and the picture, still not quite understanding what he was looking at. "Inside a help-mommy." Suddenly things started to scramble together in Hamish's little head and he whimpered as he looked at the picture again.

"It's my sister!?" he exclaimed and looked at Sherlock with big glittering eyes.  
"Or a brother, we can't tell yet." he answered and Hamish sat up on John stomach, still to shocked to be excited. He observed the outline of the baby's head, saw the small nose and chin and soon enough a smile appeared on is lips.

"It's got a nose." he giggled. "Is the bean turning human already?" Sherlock grinned and pulled him down between them so they could look at the picture together.

"It's getting there." he smiled and pointed with a slender finger on the picture. "Look there, can you see the small arm?" Hamish nodded and giggled happily again. "And there's the feet. It's not bigger than this right now." The detective showed with his hands and Hamish watched with interest.

"So small?" he asked and looked at John who had a more medical intellect. "How small will it be when it gets here?"

"Oh, maybe something like this." he said and showed him. "I thought we could look at some pictures later. From the first days we had you." Hamish nodded fanatically.

"Yes, please! I wanna see how small I was!"

"Later." Sherlock murmured and kissed the top of his son's head. "You gonna be a big brother, handsome. That's a big responsibility." The little boy was quiet for a moment, just staring at the picture with big eyes and Sherlock and John found themselves doing the same thing. This little baby would be the new edition the the family in two months. They'd found a suitable 'help-mommy' with Mycroft's help with was more than happy to get another little nephew or niece. A twenty-seven-year-old woman who needed money for educations. A nice woman who'd stumbled upon the joy of pregnancy when she was nineteen. She'd carried three kids and Mycroft had now promised to pay her dearly for their sake. This little baby on the picture Hamish so happily held, was either Sherlock's or John's, bets had been made upon whose its was going to be.

"The help-mommy is coming by tomorrow so you can feel your little sister or brother kick." John explained. "She's a nice girl. Dark hair like your dad, blue eyes, this baby might look very much like us."

"Hopefully blond." Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to Hamish's temple. "And hopefully not my curls." John laughed and embraced them both.

"I love you two." he grinned and Hamish was squashed between their chests, giggling and cuddling close into Sherlock's chest. "Soon three. I don't think you've ever seen a newborn, Hamish. Are you excited?"

"Of course I am!" Hamish exclaimed almost a little hurt that his father needed to ask such a question. "I'm gonna be a big brother! How cool is that!? What are we gonna call him or her? Can I decide?" Sherlock laughed and could just imagine what names that boy wanted to call their new baby. He was sure that if Hamish could chose which ever name he wanted, their baby would be named Dorothy or Tin-man, not a name Sherlock fancied.

"We'll see." he said and kissed the little fingers stroking the picture. "We'll make a list with different names I guess. See which one fits him or her best."

"Did you have a list for me?" Hamish asked and blinked as the tiredness sneaked back on him, caught him by surprise and he yawned loudly between them.

"We didn't need a list for you. We just gave you the best name in the world." John smiled and wounded the duvet around them both.

"It's your name, daddy." Hamish giggled and snuggled close to his neck and took a deep breath of his father's smell.

"The best name in the world." John repeated and kissed the top of his head, stole the picture out of his hand and placed it aside. "Let's sleep some more, alright. You don't wanna be tired when the lot get's here." Exactly what Hamish needed to hear to get excited again.  
"Can I tell them?" he asked. "Can I!? Please!" Eyes wide as saucers and glittering with anticipation and joy. Both parents were shocked. People that Hamish still didn't speak to would attend this afternoon and now Hamish wanted to tell them. He needed a voice for that and Sherlock beamed. Maybe this was what he needed to get braves. No little boy would feel so grown up as when they became big brother.

"Well it's your birthday present." he murmured. "Wouldn't it be mean of us if we told them?"

"Yes it would!" Hamish exclaimed and sat up, stared at them both with two sharp, blue eyes. Pinning them to the bed while he gave them one, very important rule for the evening. "Nobody say a thing!" The detective bit down hard not to giggle but failed not to smile. That stare was actually threatening, this little boy would be just as good as him to manipulate people to get what he wanted in the future.

"Of course not!" John laughed and pulled him down between them again. He landed with a low thud on the pillow and squirmed into place once more, making himself ready for more sleep.

"You two are gonna be daddies again." he smiled proudly like he'd just discovered something. "I really hope it's a girl."

"Me too." John murmured into his dark nest of hair. "I really do."

* * *

Sherlock was the first one to wake up as the sun had finally risen and shined through the window. Hamish laid upon his chest and had left a moist stain of drool on his t-shirt as he snored silently, nuzzling close to his neck and his small hand buried in his curls. It was a wonderful sight to see him sleep so deep and Sherlock traced a finger over his cheekbone and could hardly understand that this boy had been in their arms for five years today. That this was the same little child he'd once been terrified of holding was now the most precious thing he owned. He pressed his lips to the top of his head and placed his arms around his tiny body, imagined that soon he would be holding an even smaller person in his arms and his smile turned painfully wide. Hopefully a little baby girl. Oh how he would hate the puberty years with her, he thought and giggled silently. Worth it though, a little girl was something they needed in this flat, Hamish needed someone to learn responsibility out of. A cat wasn't enough.

"Hamish?" he whispered and shook his shoulder. "Handsome?" The boy stirred on his chest and hummed tiredly. "Time to get up." Hamish sniffled and fluttered his eyes open, stared confusedly into Sherlock's chest and swallowed. But as soon as the fog cleared in his blue-green eyes and big head he only had one request.

"I wanna look at photos." he mumbled and nuzzled close to Sherlock's neck, tugged his curls and yawned. "I wanna see me as a baby."

"We are." Sherlock whispered and twinned the short strands of dark hair that adorned Hamish's head. "Should we make some breakfast?" Hamish lifted his heavy head and Sherlock loved seeing him like this, face swollen from the deep sleep and hairs in every direction, eyes half lidded and lips parted.  
"What about daddy?" he croaked and scratched his head.

"He'll wake up eventually." the detective smiled. "What do you want?" The boy pondered for a few second before he yawned a second time.  
"Scones with cream and jam." he answered and Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Then we better wake daddy." he groaned and kicked his husband in the shin. "John!?" The doctor stirred and rolled over on his side. "John! Our boy's hungry!"

"Then make him breakfast." John hummed into the pillow and pulled the duvet over his head.  
"He wants scones." Sherlock explained, something that John actually could make better than him.

"I want scones!" Hamish shouted and tossed himself over his daddy, poked him in the sides and his tummy. "Daddy! Dad only make gross once."

"You heard him John." Sherlock smirked. "I'm useless at this." John groaned and seized the boy by his arms and pulled him into his embrace.

"It's not the only thing you're useless at." he reminded and Hamish giggled.

"Daddy, I'm hungry. And I wanna look at photos! You promised!" John yawned and grabbed Hamish's sides, hoisted him up high above and the boy shrieked happily and kicked his legs.

"Put me down!" he laughed. "Put me down! Daddy!" John laughed and lowered him to his chest again, kiss his face over and over until the boy was screaming in joy. "NO! Don't!" Yucky!"

"Yucky?" John asked and cupped his face to look at him. "What d'you mean yucky? Kisses are not yucky! There'll be a lot of kisses today, birthday-boy."

"If you only knew, handsome." Sherlock smiled and scooted close to them both. "Every one's gonna kiss the birthday-boy!" Hamish scoffed and slid down under the cover, pouting as he pulled the cover over his head.

"I don't want any kisses!" he shouted muffled by the mattress.

"It's kisses in exchange for presents, handsome." John smirked and placed a hand upon his head. "Now, get up! We have a lot to do! Scones with cream and jam was it?"

* * *

Sherlock sat in front of the shelves on the floor while John made the dough for the bread. Hamish sat in his lap and watched as his father's slim finger tracked the back of the many books to find what he was looking for. A blue and white book that Clara had given them before Hamish was born to fill with Hamish's early days and he found it next to some of his note books he'd used to keep track on other things in Hamish's growth that John thought was unimportant for the baby book.

"Aha!" he said and pulled it out. "Here we are." His son took the book and stared at it. There was a picture of a drawn baby boy laying swaddled in a basket on the stairs to a house. The back cracked as he opened it and it was filled to the brim with pictures and notes.

"Is that me!" he exclaimed and pointed at the square photo of a small, pink baby in a plastic cot.

"Yes." Sherlock giggled and realised it'd been years since he watched these pictures. "You weren't more than an hour here. Clara took that picture for us." Hamish frowned and tilted his head.

"It doesn't look like me." he said pursed his lips. "Was I really that small?"

"You were tiny." Sherlock chuckled. "You almost fit in my left hand only." He pointed at the next picture of Hamish lying curled up against Sherlock's chest, suckling a bottle while grasping hard around his father's pinky. "First time at home." he explained and felt that warm feeling in his stomach. "Your daddy was completely exhausted that night, but he refused to take his eyes of off you." The boy giggled and compared his hand with the one on the photo, wrapped it around Sherlock's piny and the detective smiled. "You're not as small anymore, are you?"

"No." he said and leaned back to his chest. "I'm bigger now."

They heard the oven slam shut and Sherlock turned to the kitchen to see his husband hurry towards them.

"You started without me?" he asked and kneeled beside them. "How far have you gotten?"

"Not far." Sherlock answered and turned the page.

"Oh look, Hamish!" John smiled and placed a warm hand on Sherlock's back. "The first night in your own cot." The boy frowned.

"Why am I so angry?" he asked and looked at the small child with a bundled up face and clenched fists.

"You didn't like sleeping on your own." John giggled and licked his lips. "It took weeks before me and dad could get a good nights sleep since you woke up every third hour crying. Luckily your dad doesn't sleep as much as I do."

"Those were long nights." Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips to the top of Hamish's head. "You had a good set of lungs as they say."

Hamish was so eager about all this he changed pages faster than John and Sherlock could explain about the pictures. He wanted to see every photo of himself to know what to expect about the upcoming sibling and had so many questions they just blurted out of his mouth and when the book came to an end he pulled out the next album from the shelf.

"Can we buy a new album for him or her?" he asked. "So dad can keep track again?"

"Of course." Sherlock answered. "We have a lot of things to buy now. Luckily we've kept most of your stuff in the basement." Hamish turned to them both with big, glittering eyes.

"Is he or she sleeping in my room?" he asked eagerly and John stroke his hair.

"Eventually." he said. "But the first couple of weeks he or she's staying with us. A baby need a lot the first days."

"Oh." Hamish said with a small ounce of disappointment. "But when it's old enough, are we sharing room then?"

"If you want to." Sherlock smiled. "But me and daddy's been thinking if we and you should change rooms. So you and your brother and sister can sleep down here. Such a small child can't walk the stairs you know. Plus it's a little bigger. Two beds won't easily fit upstairs."

"But I like my room!" the boy protested. "And my bed! And my desk." John bursted into laughter and ruffled his hair.

"Oh, you little tosser. We're moving down your stuff of course, and moving up ours. But not yet. In a year or two, perhaps." he answered and pulled him over to his lap. "Scones?"

* * *

When the clock struck three their friends arrived quickly and Hamish was head over heals with excitement for his gifts. He hardly had time to thank them before he tore off the paper and cartons and every gift was celebrated with a smile and a hug, there were still people in the room that he didn't talk to. Greg, as always, had the best. According to him, every five-year-old needed a proper kit of lego and Sherlock stared at it with fear. He was the one walking bare feet in the flat all day long when there weren't any cases.

Hamish opened the box and poured out every little piece and fell to his knees with the DI and started to build. Sherlock walked to the bedroom to put on shoes.

Mrs Hudson had made little Hamish his favourite cake, Hummingbird with fresh pineapple and bananas and Hamish applauded at her great decoration when he saw it and jumped up in her arms. The old woman nearly fell but there was muscles in her little body and she started to sway him in her arms. Then Hamish did something she never expected, he kissed her cheek and flung his arms around his neck.

"Thank you granny." he whispered so only she could hear and the old woman choked on a squeak and kissed him right back.

"You're very welcome, dear." she whispered and gave a little sniffle. She had never heard such a beautiful voice.

Then Clara arrived, to Hamish disappointment she didn't brought anything more than a gift-card and a bouquet of flowers. He wrinkled his nose when he took them but smiled when he she explained that the card could give him anything under 50 pounds and the music shop. He gave her a small laugh and held hit hard in his hands.

"I'm gonna buy notebooks." he said and ran away before he could see hear react to the surprise. The woman looked up at John with big brown eyes and gasped.

"He can really speak?" she whispered like she was afraid that Hamish could hear her and the doctor chuckled.

"Yes, he's done it since december last year."

"But I was here at christmas. He didn't say a word." she exclaimed and unzipped her big coat.

"No, truth is, he hasn't spoken to anyone else but me, Sherlock and Greg so far. Today is his first day that he talks to everyone." Clara giggled and brought a hand to her lips.

"Jesus. That's amazing."

"Yeah, we just had mrs Hudson in tears."

With a loud chirp Molly entered the flat and Hamish spun on his heal in the kitchen and ran towards the young woman and into her arms.

"Molly!" he cheered and she stiffened with him in her arms.

"H-hi." she stammered happily and picked him up from the floor. "Happy birthday, Hamish. Has it been a good day?"

"Brilliant!" Hamish answered and was off again to get the car he'd just built on lego to show her but John managed to caught him before he reach the kitchen.

"No!" he smiled. "More play later. I think it's tea and cake time." He tossed him over his shoulder and the boy laughed hysterically and kicked him in the chest, desperate to get down again.

"Daddy! No!" he shrieked and slammed his little fists to his back. "Put me down! I don't like tea!"

"There's lemonade for you. dear." Mrs Hudson laughed as she set the table with cups and plates.

Sherlock re-entered the the kitchen in his shiny shoes and jacket nicely buttoned, shot one look at the gathering and sighed.

"Hello Molly." he greeted and gave her a slight nod. "See your new relationship is going well." The mortician pulled a face and tried to hide her joy about the new man she'd met.

"W-what are you talking about? I.."

"And Lestrade's to I see." Sherlock grinned and reached out to touch the small stain of lipstick on the DI's collar. It was still there even if the shirt had been washed many times.

"What are you getting at?" John asked and put the kicking Hamish down on the chair and he reached for his glass of lemonade and took a big gulp. The doctor looked at his friend who's cheeks ware burning and rubbed his face.

"I'm saying that our dear DI and mortician has been having coitus for quite some time now." Sherlock answered and everyone in the room stopped whatever they were doing. "Since christmas?"

"Sherlock..." John said warningly when he saw how Molly and Greg was starting to get very upset with this leaked information and the detective, as always, didn't understand why this was a sensitive subject.

"What's coitus?" Hamish asked and and reached for his spoon and Sherlock sat down beside him at the table with a smirk.

"It's when two people..."

"No!" John and Greg yelled and Mrs Hudson gave the detective a swat on the arm.

"He's to young, Sherlock." she warned and Sherlock frowned and turned to his husband.

"He need to know someday.  
"Know what!?" Hamish asked with a confused face. "Tell me!"

"Yes!" Molly yelled suddenly just to stop this commotion. "I and Greg are a couple!" But that didn't really stop the commotion but only started more questions while Hamish still tried to figure out what coitus was and when no one seemed to care about him anymore he started to get annoyed. This was his day after all and he started to pout in his seat.

"Since christmas?" mrs Hudson beamed. "I would never guess. I thought you were married, Greg."

"I was." he smiled. "But it ended two years ago. I've been keeping my eye on Molly since the divorce went through." And Molly only blushed worse where she stood squeezing her hands.

"Who cares!?" Hamish shouted and decided that he had bigger news. "I'm having a baby sister!" The room fell in silence and their friends turned to the little boy who beamed like the sun itself on his chair.  
"What?" Mrs Hudson was the first one who spoke. "When?"

"In two months!" Hamish continued and pulled John's sleeve. "Right daddy?"

"You're absolutely right." the doctor answered happily and poured up the tea for them. "It might be a boy, just to keep in mind."

"Oh my god, really!" Greg exclaimed with his crocked smile and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes. We found a help-mommy through Mycroft." And Clara frowned from her side of the table.

"A help-mommy?"

"A surrogate." John answered and put down the pot.

"A help-mommy!" Hamish corrected furiously, not letting anyone tell him any different. Molly uttered a little laugh and looked between the two men in shock.

"That's wonderful! Congratulations!"

Sherlock had never didn't like birthday parties, especially not now when all eyes were on him. Gatherings of a large amount of people did something to him, it was uncomfortable, to many voices speaking of things that seemed unimportant and he hated that they expected him to take a part in it all. But he did it for Hamish, he didn't want to teach his boy to be unsociable. So he sat down by the table, took a deep breath and made himself mentally ready for idiocy.

"So... whose is it?" Clara asked and nibbled on a biscuit. Hamish frowned at the questions and tilted his head as he observed her with a confused face.

"Ours..." he answered uncertainly and turned to John. "Or.. what does she mean?" John chuckled and stroke a hand through his hair, making the boy more confused.

"Of course it's ours." he answered and kissed his nose. "Our baby. Nobody else's."

* * *

**So remember to leave a comment. They'll always make me happy! **


	19. The power of a kick

**Hello again. It's been a while and I'm sorry. I'm in the middle of raising some of my grades and have put a lot of time and energy on "Hamish, the invisible boy" and I hope you can forgive me! **

* * *

The next day Hamish woke up at a respectable time. The sugar in all the cakes and candy had turned him into a hurricane of energy and he'd ran around the flat, played with lego, shown the small melodies he'd learned on the piano and eaten more candy. As the clock struck nine and only Greg and Molly was left in the flat with the family, Hamish had collapsed in his uncle lap with the sonogram picture plastered to his cheek and chocolate staining his lips. Then he'd slept through all night until nine the next day.

But this day would be just as energetic as the last. He was head over heals the moment he sat down by the table and John remembered him about the girl who today would come to visit. The boy quickly forgot about breakfast and just stared at his daddy for a long second. There was something that bothered him, he didn't understand what his fathers meant when they said that he would be able to feel the baby but not see it. Even if John had explained that the baby was hiding inside their help-mommy, would they be able to find it just like they found him during hide and seek? It didn't make any sense.

And John found it hard to explain, Hamish didn't understand the human anatomy and he was too young to have it explained. Also he'd never been in a close relationship with a woman except mrs Hudson and she was to old and conservative of her 'time of life'. Hamish wouldn't understand the heterosexual relationships until he himself was old enough to discover his own orientation. The boy was wonderfully oblivious of the world, not unintelligent, and he needed everything explained to him on a very basic level at this age.

"The bean me and dad planted needs to grow for nine months in the help-mommy's tummy. And right now the baby is kicking and moving inside her. We won't be able to see it, but we'll be able to feel it." Hamish tilted his head and looked at John with intense blue-green eyes, nibbled his bottom lip and nodded. Then he blinked and lowered his gaze to his buttered toast.

"Do I need to talk to her?" he asked with a very small voice that John hadn't heard since they fetched the piano at Angelo's and he gave his son a comforting smile.

"You don't need to. But if you want to talk to your brother or sister, maybe we can ask her to cover her ears. Is that okay?" The boy wrinkled his nose at those words and shook his head.

"That's mean." he told him strictly and John felt his eyebrows disappear under his hairline.

"I think she'll understand." he said but Hamish shook his head.

"It's very rude." he said and folded up his softened toast and took a big bite.

* * *

Three hours later Hamish was all excited again, hunched over the side table practising to write a thank-you-note on his painting to the nice lady who was currently carrying his sister or brother. He still didn't know exactly how it worked or what to expect but he did know that it would be impossible without her help, he would probably never be more grateful to anyone.

John leaned over him as he furiously scratched the blue pen back and forth over the paper to create a sky behind the many birds and his father frowned when he saw something that might not belong in the picture.

"What's that?" he asked and pointed to the grey and red lump under the majestic tree. Hamish turned in his chair and glared at him with blue-green eyes, huffed a little laugh as he judged him for his stupidity.

"A body, of course." he said and grasped for the red pen to add more blood to the lump. "D'you want to hear how he died?"

"Um?" John began and suddenly forgot about the cuppa in his hand, almost mortified when Hamish started adding blooded footprints on the green grass leading away from the victim. "Love. I don't..." He couldn't bare to say the words that this might not be an appropriate gift for the woman. Hamish had obviously put down a lot of work in this picture. "I think dad would be more happy to be honest. It's been a long time since you painted him a picture." The boy frowned and turned his head again.

"But this is for the help-mommy." he insisted. "Not for dad."

"Yes, I know." John murmured and couldn't help his lips pursing by the thought how Lynn would react to this. At least she knew what the fathers were working with, maybe she would understand. "I just thought it was to beautiful to give away but if you really want to then who am I to say no?" His son gave him a thin smile that was taught by his dad and John placed a hand on his head and made a mess of his hair. "She'll be here any minute now so you better hurry up. I don't see a sun anywhere on that masterpiece of yours."

A small giggle was heard from the boy as John turned to the counter and plated the biscuits and cakes. The tea was already brewing and lemonade had been made after Hamish's orders. It need mild, very mild, closer to the taste of water than sweet lemonade and John had never understood how he could drink that but distaste the taste of flavoured water from a bottle.

"Can I have a biscuit?" Hamish asked as the plastic container rustled.

"Not until Lynn's here." John answered and turned his head to the bedroom. "Sherlock! What are you doing?"

"Shaving!" Sherlock called back when the bell gave a sudden ring and Hamish jumped where he sat.  
"She's here!" he called out and jumped down on the floor with the picture in his hands, running off to get his dad'd opinion on his art before giving it away. Soon John heard jolly voices down the stairs and mrs Hudson laughed loudly as Lynn joked playfully about her bump and John started to feel nervous. Compulsively he started to clean up the last of the things in the kitchen and sitting room and was nearly short of breath as he heard the two ladies climb the stairs.

"Ho-ho?" mrs Hudson called as she knocked the wall and John took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse. The old woman stepped inside followed by the much younger and beautiful girl with hands resting on her big bump.

"Hellu." Lynn giggled and waddled to meet him in the middle of the room and shake his hand firmly. "Nice to see you again, it's been a while."

"Yes, yes." John smiled nervously and his gaze fell to her stomach where his child was currently resting. "How are you? How's the... um?"

"Oh! Bump's fine." she laughed and rubbed her waist. "It's kicking away and making barrel rolls every ten minutes. It's an active one, I must say." She stretched her back with a big sigh and her dark long hair fell over his shoulder. "And I'm fine. Glowing, my friends tell me." John grinned and had to agree. Just like Harry when she was in this stage her lips were naturally red, hair thick and healthy and eyes glittering. John almost forgot to show some hospitality as his mind was roamed by the future resting in her abdomen, but mrs Hudson was alway kind to remind him.

"Why don't you take her coat, John, and I'll set the table." John didn't have time before Sherlock appeared our of nowhere and grasped her coat by the shoulder and helped her out of it.

"Oh, thank you. Hello Sherlock." she smiled and looked over her shoulder.

"I see everything is in order with your condition." he said simply and hanged her clothes on one of the hooks on the wall and the girl frowned by his choose of words.

"Yes, everything is as it should be." she said and noticed the little boy hiding behind the corner in the kitchen. "Hello." she smiled and tilted her head while looking as friendly as she possible could. "You must be Hamish." The boy found some courage and took a step out in the room with his picture in his hand. "Oh my? Are you sure you're just five? You look at least like seven."

To John surprise she actually managed to bring a smile to Hamish's lips by those words, not many strangers were able to do that on the first meeting. And Hamish was prepared to mirror her friendliness by reaching out his hand with the paper.

"Is that for me?" she asked and took a step closer, the boy nodded frantically and bowed his head as she kneeled before him with much effort. "Oh, jesus. I'm way to big for this." she groaned and Hamish grinned and put the picture in her hand. Her face lit up by the sight and she gasped loudly. "Look at that! Did you do this?" He nodded shyly and tossed a glance at Sherlock who gnashed his teeth were he stood. It was still hard for him to have unknown people in his flat but this time he really tried, and he managed without saying anything hurtful or mean. After all, this woman was carrying his future son or daughter, he couldn't act gruesome to her. And the faces she brought out in Hamish was just wonderful.

"Is that a body?" she asked suddenly and pointed at the grey and red lump under the tree. Hamish nodded and Lynn gasped happily. "Wicked! And where's the murderer then? Where did he go?" Her finger followed the blooded footsteps and Hamish opened his mouth but closed it quickly again. Not ready quite yet.

* * *

They gathered around around the table and Lynn chewed biscuit after biscuit with great hunger that John started to wonder if they should have invited her for dinner instead. Hamish was crawled up in John's lap, sipping his lemonade and stole another cake when he thought no one was looking until Sherlock had to snatch them back before he ate too many.

"These are great biscuits." Lynn smiled and she swallowed her seventh one. "Where d'you get them?"

"Oh, just around the corner, dear." Mrs Hudson smiled and pushed the tray a little closer to her. "They're Hamish's favourite too. Aren't they?" The boy looked at Lynn and nodded with a weak smile, glancing at her big bump that kept her rather far away from the table. The woman smiled right back at him and cleared her throat.

"D'you wanna feel the little one kick, Hamish?" she asked and the boy stiffened in John's lap, quickly lowering his gaze and felt his cheek go red. He did want to feel but was way to shy to confess such a thing. But John rubbed his arm and hummed questioningly as he kissed his temple.

"What d'you say, handsome?" he asked and ran his hand through his hair. Hamish turned in his arms and gripped on tight to his shirt, not planning to let go anytime soon. But he still nodded, a shy little nod while nibbling his bottom lip, but he was not doing it alone. To his relief John held on to him just a tight as he stood up and walked around the table to sit down beside Lynn who pushed herself back in the chair. Hamish blinked and swallowed nervously as she reached out her hand.

"May I?" she asked and the boy hesitated for a few seconds before taking it. Slowly she led him to her bump and pressed his palm to the side of her big bump and the room fell into dead silence. Sherlock watched the scene in secret aw, even if he didn't find any sort of interest in feeling his unborn child it was a proud moment to see Hamish being so willing to do so. It was also a very warm feeling so see his husband staring so lovingly at the bump while holding their son. Sherlock had never really been there when Harry was expecting, to much fear was keeping him back from visiting her but this time he knew what to expect. In his own defence every man was frightened by the first child and becoming a father but he was fairly certain that what he suffered through those months was hard to beat.

But this time it was different, their second child was now growing inside the young woman and this time he just felt eager to see his daughter or son. But even more eager to see Hamish's reactions and how he would act around a newborn. It would be very exciting the upcoming months indeed.

Suddenly Hamish gave a small gasp and pressed his hand a little harder to the woman's skin. A tiny prod hit his right in a palm quickly followed by another and another and John smiled with his cheek pressed to his son's temple.

"Did it kick?" he asked and Hamish nodded while staring with big eyes on the bump.

"If we tease it a little it might just turn." Lynn smiled and pressed hard fingers to her bump, encouraging the baby to move. Not before long it made a barrel roll inside her and she giggled when she saw Hamish twitch on John's lap. "Did you feel that?" Hamish nodded and she moved his hand over the bump. "Here's the head." she explained happily and the boy pressed to the hard globe inside her. Then she moved his hand to the area under her left breast where he felt the familiar feeling of two feet and he smiled happily as it continued to kick. "It likes attention." she smiled and rubbed her side. "Kicking and moving all night and sleeps during the day."

"It's like a teenager already." Mrs Hudson giggled and Lynn laughed at that.

"I hope not." she beamed and took a deep breath as the baby turned a second time. "I don't think I could take loud music and domestic right now."

Sherlock responded to that with an annoyed groan and John shot him a warning look. He silenced himself quickly and returned to his tea with a tired sigh.

"You can feel too, John." Lynn smiled and ignored Sherlock, she'd been warned before she went into this and seemed like a woman who didn't react to such things. She actually handled Sherlock pretty good for being an "ordinary" human. "It's your baby after all." John smiled and joined Hamish's little hand in the bump. The foetus greeted him whit a hard kick and the doctor lit up like a lighthouse as he felt it.

"Well, hello baby." he smiled and rubbed the little foot. "There you are."

Sherlock stared, still didn't understand this interaction between unborn and old and probably never would. How could something that did not quite exist have such a captivating ability on someone?

"How about you, Sherlock?" Lynn asked and he woke up from his pondering about human interactions with a hitch in his breath. "D'you wanna feel?"

"Um.. no." he said with a small voice that made John break his gaze with the bump and stare at him in confusion. That was a real stutter, not a fake one to show the mean irony that John was used to. Sherlock was actually on edge while thinking about their unborn child.  
"C'mon Sherlock." he smiled, wanting him to at least feel this baby kick since he never even glanced at Harry's bump while expecting Hamish. "This might be the last baby we're having."

The detective swallowed with a dry throat and fidgeted on his chair, not really sure how to handle this situation.

"It's not going to bite." Lynn joked while fluttering her lashes as she was punched in the lung by a small fist.

"Go on, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson pushed and moved from her chair to leave him some room.

"No, I'm..." he started but Mrs Hudson didn't want to hear it.  
"Now come here young man. This is your baby and you'll regret it for life if you don't put your hand on that bump right now!" Both Sherlock, John and Hamish stared at her big eyed and terrified. That woman had clearly had enough of the detective's modesty and was ready to force him to make contact with his unborn child. Lynn on the other hand just giggled, a little shocked by the sudden outbursts but looked somewhat comfortable with the scolding. As if John could read her mind she didn't feel confident to give this baby to a father that didn't seem to care, even if she had to.

"Sherlock." he murmured to his husband and nodded to the empty chair.

The detective swallowed the lump that had stuck in his throat and stood up slowly, taking his time to round the table and sit down beside the very pregnant Lynn who offered her hand. With some seconds of hesitation he let himself up and Lynn pressed his hand to her tummy right beside Hamish's little hand that was still drumming its fingers to the skin. Then he waited, kept his gaze locked at his hand without feeling a thing.

He'd never felt a baby kick within someones abdomen before and his expectations where low. John had often spoken about the power behind an unborn child's kick and Sherlock had always rolled his eyes at his statements. What more could they be than just a prod to his palm? But nothing seemed to happen and Lynn started poking at her bump, teasing the foetus by pressing her fingers to its body at different places and Sherlock looked up behind thick eyelashes at John, giving him a annoyed look and John stared right back at him warningly.

Then it happened. A strong prod hit him right in his palm but it was more than that. He could feel the outline of the heal and toes and he swallowed the gasp that threatened to slip over his tightly shut lips. But he couldn't deny that John might have been right. There was some kind of strong power behind that kick, and the other, and then the other. A smile twitch the corner of his mouth and John saw it, beamed happily at him and Lynn started to relax in their presence as she saw the father of the child looking pleased.

"Did you feel that, Sherlock?" she asked with a small but happy voice and the detective looked very smug in his chair.

"I believe I did." he said and pressed his hand a little closer to the two feet that made the woman's stomach bulge alien like by each kick. By now Sherlock started to feel eager. He'd never been a patient man and long periods of waiting was one of his bigger enemies.

"So, have you planned any names?" Lynn asked softly and moved the detective's hand to a small elbow that pressed at her side.

"No, not yet." John answered and buried his nose in Hamish's hair to hide his ridiculous smile from her and Sherlock. "We have some in mind but nothing is really decided. But we're hoping for a girl." Hamish nodded in agreement and looked up at Lynn with dark eyes.

"There are too many boys living here." he whispered and Lynn bursted into a laughter.

"Is that so?" she asked and rubbed her back. "Well, I hope it comes true then. But another boy wouldn't make you disappointed, would it?" The boy pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side, thinking about it very thoroughly.

"I guess not." he said with a low voice and removed his hand from her stomach. "But I'm hoping for a sister."

* * *

**It's almost baby-time again. Already working on the next chapter so bare with me! Meanwhile, leave a review and tell me what you think and if there's something you wish me to write about! **


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